Tempest and Weakness
by bellaknoti
Summary: I may have had to give up my title, but I will gut that treacherous dog and the usurper who holds his leash, if it's the last thing I do. And then? There's only one true heir to the throne, and I will stand beside him when he is given his due.
1. Flowers of Youth

Wha- Confound it, boy, I'm trying to rest my bones here by the fire now, can't you see?

**No**, you can't have it. That's my medicine. You want a drink, you go get some water.

What, you're back? What now, boy?

Haven't you got potatoes to peel?

Ah, brought them with you. I see you're too clever for me by half.

Well, what will it be this time, then?

Hm?

Forbidden romance? High adventure?

Ah. A tale of sadness.

Again?

Well, let's see now...

What was the worst? You have no idea what you're asking, do you.

Fine, fine, don't press.

I'll tell you, but you're not going to be very happy when I do.

You sure you want to hear it?

All right, then.

All right.

Not all of our assignments are battles victorious with abominations falling by our swords.

The thing we can't pay attention to is that some of them are just... people. Not possessed, not evil.

Sometimes it's just the way their lives are, or how they're desperate. Sometimes they're just too clever for their own good. But they were still blood mages, and all of them had to be... dealt with.

As you know, mercy doesn't really apply.

There were two girls, twins, identical. They were perfect, blushing maids. One was smaller, and mute. Both were beautiful, enough to break a man's heart.

Well, I don't know why, but twins sometimes figure out their own language. I know: between my father and his three brothers, there are five sets of twins in my family.

So, these girls, they did that. They made some kind of pact with a spirit when they were small and innocent.

The girls would prick their fingers and touch the blood together. Then the mute girl controlled her sister's mouth, like a puppet. She even had a different voice. They would stand there like that, the mute girl's lost voice coming out of her sister's mouth.

When they figured out what we were about, the spirit flew up out of the girls and attacked us. The only way to stop it was... to... was to slay the girls.

They didn't fall easily, that was the worst part. The spirit kept making them get back up again.

Two beautiful young maidens, struck down in the flower of youth, because they used blood magic, and had made a pact with a hostile spirit. We did our duties.

You don't think about it after, the question. If we had left them alone, could they have lived peacefully? It's pointless.

We just don't ask those questions, boy. Evil wears a pretty face sometimes. Duty demands- Hey, where'd you go boy? Alistair?


	2. Longest Night

An eternity of pain and torture, imprisoned in fear, watching atrocities, feeling the rage and nightmarish perceptions of the creatures, the children of the dragon looming above everything. The fire, the weapons, the hatred, the filth.

I swam toward a pinprick of light, and I woke up on a cold, stone floor. Where was I? I rubbed my eyes, blinking, as my vision started to clear. I searched my memory. Who were these people? What happened? How did I escape?

Slowly, slowly, I began to understand what had happened to me, as the men bent down to ask me if I was all right. ...Duncan. Yes. He had rescued me from the burning corpse of my life. The pain I had felt began to subside, the fear sublimated by the time it was taking me just to process my new, non-painful existence. I shifted my gaze to the other man, and squinted as his face came into focus. The concern in his eyes was somehow softer and kinder than the professional scrutiny of the older Warden. ...Alistair. The Wilds... oh, Maker, and Jory... Daveth. I swallowed my tears, knowing I would only look weak. As one of the few _ever_ female Wardens, I couldn't afford to.

I took a deep breath, and finally stood, accepting their hands in support. The world spun and tilted, and I felt nausea beginning to rise. Blinded, I stumbled into the wall, felt hands at my elbows. I had a terrible moment where my mouth watered and my stomach rolled. I swallowed hard, and my breakfast stayed in place, reluctantly. I rested my head against the hard coolness and breathed. Duncan was saying something about meeting up with the King when I felt steady enough. I nodded, still leaning against the wall.

The, um, apparently... breathing... wall.

I was leaning against a man I only met today. Completely embarrassed, I took a quick step backwards, and stumbled again. He caught my hand and pulled me back to my feet, laughing. Somehow he had made it seem natural, like we had been dancing, and he had simply caught me up out of a dip. Wow, reflexes. He had a face so straight, I knew he was suppressing it. "So... the good news is, we won the dance competition." He smirked, a laugh caught just behind his teeth.

Stepping back again, I shook my head, trying to clear the dizziness. I braced my feet, closed my eyes, and bent my head. After a few moments, the dizziness subsided. I took a deep breath, wiped the sweat from my forehead, and straightened. He was there, leaning carelessly against a column, but his eyes belied the attempt at professional nonchalance. I put a hand over my belly, swallowed again, and it finally settled.

I tried to give him a smile, but it felt awkward and strange on my face. I clapped my hand over my mouth as another sudden wave of nausea swept over me. "Um... Does this happen to everyone?" I took a few quick breaths, to smell anything but my own sweat and fear.

"Well, no... I think that's just you. Most of us don't, actually, manage... **not** to throw up." I processed that for a moment, before I realized that he'd said I was strong. I laughed. He smiled and shrugged toward the direction of the King's table. "Don't want to keep the King waiting." I nodded, and trudged off to the planning table, battling the sudden fatigue creeping over me.

Things began to happen very quickly after that. I had no time to think. Duncan dismissed us and sent us on a lackey's mission. Hubris. We were shoulder to shoulder and neck deep in monsters, the twisted things that tormented me in that endless time between moments. Darkspawn. Alistair overcame the terrifying giant, and I pulled the lever to light the signal. A great roaring sounded from outside. I turned to look back at Alistair. I was blinded by a light brighter than the midday sun, and a huge thudding concussion shook my bones and knocked me out the window. I fell into darkness.

Darkness...

A blinding light stabbed me straight through the face. _Death. The darkspawn have overcome me, this is the fading of my life._ I waited for the axe to fall, but nothing more happened.

I heard a soft shuffling, someone's breathing. "Oh, good, you're awake," she said. I opened my eyes as the blinding light faded to a little too bright. Oh. Um... weird. Not dead. Blurred images of the last moments I remembered flashed before my eyes. Panic rose in my chest. _Why was I not on the battlefield? Why was I not dead in the tower? What had happened to all the darkspawn?_

_Wait, what? What friend?_

I think I flew. I'm not sure how my clothes and gear got on me. I stumbled over the threshold and into the light. My vision was still blurred. There was... a man, standing by... where were we? A lake. Mossy trees. The Wilds? My vision swung back to him as my feet had been carrying me forward, and he came into focus. Alistair.

It was all I could do not to throw myself into his arms, so relieved was I. We stood shoulder to shoulder again _(Will we always be this way?)_ as we learned of the fate of our leader, and the Order. _Strategy? You want __**me**__ to decide? What do I know? I'm just a fresh recruit!_

"Don't back out on me now," he whispered. I looked into his eyes. _We're the only ones left, out of all those we ever knew. Where would I go? Why would I want to?_

Later that night, the witch camped well enough away that I could talk to him on a log before the fire. The conversation just went 'round in circles.

"I don't want to lead, I prefer to follow," he confided.

I pressed my forehead into my palms. "But you know what to do next. You know where we're going. I don't." He threw a stick into the fire, his lips pressed together. I watched him for a while, and finally he shook his head. A long moment passed. At last, I conceded. "All right. You can put me up in front, and I'll be the leader. I grew up noble; I think I know how to fake it. So, as long as _you_ lead _me_, I... I guess I can do this." I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. He was nodding, and I was relieved.

My bedroll was flat, cold, and hard. _Any family I'm going to have now, I'll have to make for myself._ I watched his silhouette until I fell asleep.


	3. Boy With a Coin

_In Kambriana's mind; after Lothering..._

The dance of life and death, the fear in their eyes. The lives that could be spared, could be saved. The families torn apart, the effect of a simple piece of silver on the life of a small boy who has lost his mother to the treachery of Howe and his mercenary, filthy soldiers. Maker left us behind, caused the Blight that threatens all our lives.

And what does that make us? The vanguard of His avenging angels. Darkspawn eat everything, "Save the world again, My children," that's what He tells us. Never saying, until it's too late, that the price will be our lives. Now or later, it makes no difference. The Maker has gone, so the Black City is all we'll ever know. We defend His world, and all His works, and for a reward, we get the Black City, empty and cold, nothing left but ashes and bones. As above, so below.

Take the coin, child; take the coin, ser; take the coin, lady. Maker left the earth in His anger, saying nothing, giving no guidance. And so take this coin, it's the best I can offer, as somehow representative of the mercy that was, for we are all you have now, and we can try to turn back the Blight, and you can try to run for your life, but only with the coin to buy the food, the supplies that will carry you forward.

Take this piece of mercy... sometimes prayers are answered by those agents who have the charity and the kindness to see the pain, the plight, and try to remove it.


	4. Beautiful Girl

_In Alistair's mind..._

__She stands by the fire, unconsciously playing with her hair, oblivious to anything happening around her. She watches the stars, and she talks to all of us, and she cares, she cares, about everything, about the land, about us, about the blight... her heart is too big to contain us, to contain all of it.

All I want is to be first, first in her heart, first in her mind. Love everything, girl, but love me more. Stay here, by my side, be my other pair of hands, be at my back; I'll be your guard. Let me stay with you, let me follow you, I'll go wherever you want. I'll fight by your side, just don't turn me away.

Don't close your heart to all the things I've got to say, and Maker, I've got so very much to say. Just don't look away, look at me with your eyes of green and smile, smile for me, let me make you laugh. Do you even know how beautiful you are? You don't, that look of surprise, you had no idea. And so, charmed am I. You bewitch me, you lay your hands on my arm, you ask me to stay, and I do.


	5. Just Say Yes

He's strong. Stronger than me. He makes me laugh. He makes me blush. Does he mean to do that? I don't know. I can't tell. He seems transparent, but so is the ocean, to a point. That depth is deceptive. He looks off into the distance, now, measuring the path we will take, telling me what we can expect from the terrain, what we will need to prepare. He points to the mountains. I'm not hearing a word he's saying. I try to pay attention, but I find myself staring at his lips. What if I kissed him? Oh, what if _he_ kissed _me_? Could I do that? I touch my lips with my fingertips.

"Um... Are you all right?"

I jump and snap to, blinking. Oh, Maker, I am caught. I blush, clear my throat. "Ah. Yes. Just... um, making a mental list of all the supplies we'll need." Yeah, that's it. He climbs up onto a large rock, and looks down over the promontory, to the left, to the right.

"If we try to go around, we'll be days out of our way. I think we're going to have to go down the side of this cliff."

"Wasn't there a road that went through here on the map?"

"Yes, well, not very many people travel around in the middle of nowhere. Uh, besides us. It looks like a landslide collapsed the road; see there?" He pulls me gently over next to him, leaning down to point from my point of view. His hand is on my shoulder. His cheek is right next to mine. I can feel the heat of him. I can smell his neck. He smells like a soldier. Anyone who thinks it's gross hasn't lived with them, or been one. I have. I am, despite all that my parents wished for me. This is the life I wished for myself. I look where he points. "That's the remains of the head of the path that went down... there, and... there. See that? I think I can see pieces of it all the way down there." He leans over and waves. "Hello, pieces of the road. You're no help to us now!" He turns back to me again. I've been caught staring at his shoulders. "We'll have to climb." I nod.

On the way back to camp, I notice how long his stride is. How he carries his armour like a second skin, effortlessly. No awkward walk, no slowing or difficulty picking up his feet. He might just as well have been wearing plain old clothes. Mother always warned the soldiers off me, but it was hard not to crush on the men who were teaching me how to fight. Strength, flexibility, stamina... And there is just something inherently... attractive... in watching a man practice the dance of battle. Uh-oh, he said something, and I missed it.

"No I wasn't-" I start. _...watching you._ I realize I'm defending something he doesn't know, because it is all in my head. I blush again, and look down. "Uh, that is... what were you saying?"

He shakes his head, throws up his hands. He points at me. "**You** are distracted. So come on, out with it."

I feel my eyes widen, my heart beats faster. I open my mouth to speak, but I can't. How do I tell him...? Wouldn't it be too forward for me to say anything? I should wait to see if he can declare his intentions. I've been quiet too long. I start to panic. Say something! _Talk! __**Talk**__!_ "Uhm... I- I, um... Well, that is... I mean- Well... You see, it's- Um..." Oh, hell. Smooth, very smooth. I put a hand over my eyes and shake my head. Now that I'm not looking at him, I can speak more or less as well as a trained monkey. "I... I guess I'm just tired. I'm not used to so much..." I wave a hand, "...you know..."

"Darkspawn? Heavy travelling? My stew?" He laughs.

I giggle, in spite of myself. "No, it's not so bad. Better than the nasty gruel Nan used to make." I shudder, remembering. He smiles at me. Oh, his smile.

I must seem like a child to him. I spent all my time living soft in the castle, dreaming of battles and being a soldier. I had the luxury of playing at it, learning skills I never thought I'd be allowed to use. Meanwhile he was living hard, training, learning, _becoming_. Is he just humouring me? I look down at my boots and scuff at the dirt with my toe. I open my mouth to speak. I don't know what I'm going to say, but the way I feel about him, I have to say something, sometime, and so I'm just going to say something, anything, and make a fool of myself, but at least I'll have put it out there. But before I can speak, he claps me on the shoulder, gently. "Come on. Food sounds good. I think I've got some good spiced bread, and I know there's still a bit of Antivan cheese in there... maybe some apples." He motions with his head back to the direction of camp.

I snap my mouth shut. If it were meant to be, I would have been able to say something by now. I'm crazy. I'm a dreamer. There is no way this man thinks of me like that. There are too many other important things on his mind. He just lost Duncan. He's a Warden, has been. I'm just a green recruit, and my fighting skills are barely adequate. I keep getting wounded; he keeps having to stand over me after I've been beaten to the ground, just to keep me from being killed. I look like a fainting maiden, compared to him. Hardly respectable for someone who's supposed to be fighting **with** him.

He's talking about food again. "Soldiers live on their stomachs." When I had asked the arms Master about the life of a soldier, that's what he told me. Hard tack and jerky are enough to survive, but the soldier craves the things that spoil too quickly in the pack: cheeses, vegetables, fruits. Foraging only gets you so far. Head in the clouds, I crash right into his back. He takes a step forward, absorbing the impact just fine. I, however, fall flat on my back. I cover my eyes with both hands. Oh... I can't bear to see the look on his face. But then I hear him laugh.

I peek between my fingers, and he's leaning against a tree, one hand pressed to his armour, over his belly. "Oh, you should have seen your face..." he gasps, before he bursts into laughter again. Oh, yes. I am _so_ respectable. Mortified, is what I am. I sigh and get back to my feet. There are sticks and leaves stuck between the pieces of my armour. I shake myself to try and get it out, clanking and rattling. He wipes his eyes, still giggling a bit, but he helps me clear the junk off of the back of my armour.

He puts his arm around my shoulders. Camaraderie. Yes. Soldiers lean on each other and share humor all the time. I smile, laugh a bit, myself. He seems to suddenly remember where he is, who I am. He straightens up abruptly, withdrawing his arm. Suddenly he's all business again, as he clears his throat. He motions toward the camp, holding his arm out. Ladies first. Right. Not as soldier. I'm a Lady. And I cannot forget, even if I'm a Lady wearing armour, carrying a sword, I'm a "Lady" first.

I hang my head, and go on in front of him. I watch the ground all the way to camp, drop mechanically onto a log. Alistair begins to consult with Sten about the path, and how best to get down the side of the huge cliff. Of course. The men have it handled. They move off to consult with Bodahn about his stores, and what road he and Sandal will have to take to meet up with us later. Leliana watches me curiously, but doesn't pry. Everything is fine.

But now, Morrigan is starting in on Alistair again. _**Again.**_ Women, at least, are something I can have a claim on understanding. And I am tired of hearing her insult him. He is _**not**_ stupid, _**not**_ naive. Who the hell does she think she is? She's only here by _**my**_ sufferance! I get up and stalk toward her. She turns at the sound of my clatter and sees me coming. Her eyes widen, just a bit; she shuts her mouth abruptly and takes a few steps backward toward her little shack. Good. I want you to be intimidated by me. You _should_ be intimidated. I'll rip your arms off and beat you with them!

I can feel my hands clenching and opening at my sides. I snarl. She turns pale. Good.

Alistair turns and swings himself very neatly into my path. He puts his hands out and grabs me by the shoulders. I struggle a little, but he's stronger than me. I look at him, and his head rocks back a bit, as though my gaze were an impact. "Okay, okay, let's go, no, we're leaving now," he says, and steers me out of the camp. I look back over my shoulder at Morrigan, and she takes a few more steps backwards, looking a little sick. Good.

Alistair leads me well away from the camp, then turns and looks at me. I stand there, still seething. "What is going on with you and Morrigan?" he asks, surprise in his voice. That anger is bubbling up again. I begin to stalk back and forth. "She is such. A. Bitch. I hate her! She's always on about you!" I put a sneer on my face and try to imitate her condescending tone. " 'Alistair is more stupid that the dog.' 'Wishing doesn't make you smarter, Alistair.' 'I hope the small letters in the books you've read didn't strain you, Alistair.' " He is leaning against a tree, watching me, his arms folded over his chest. "What _**right**_ does she have to be questioning you, judging you, always after you about one thing or another, insulting your intelligence?" I shriek, a wordless, growling cry of frustration and towering rage, my hands curl as I stare up at the sky, hoping the Maker will give me some kind of inspiration, or at least help me swallow my anger. "You're not stupid, you're brilliant! You've read just as much as I have, and she couldn't hold an intelligent conversation in a bucket!" I keep pacing, ranting, for several more minutes until I finally wind down.

I drop heavily to my knees in the dirt, and put my hands over my face. My voice is low when I say, "I'm sorry you had to see me like this."

He is quiet for a while, then I hear his armour moving. He drops a hand on my shoulder, then squats beside me. I look up at him. There is understanding there, in his eyes. He does not look so hard and commanding as usual. He watches me, searching my face for something, I don't know what. He stands again, holding out his hands. I take them, and I stand.

"You know, that's a lot of anger on my behalf."

I know I'm turning red now. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I stammer. "Well- I- You- We-"

"What?"

"Um."

"There's been something going on with you all day. I can't help you if you don't tell me." He shakes his head. "This thing with Morrigan... It's only part of it. Even I can see that."

I look at him. This is agony.

"I just... uh... I've just been... thinking too much." Yeah. Okay, that's appropriately non-committal. He arches an eyebrow, waits.

"Are you _sure_ you don't want to talk about it?"

I sit down on a fallen log. I feel defeated. "You... you're my... uh, my best friend, and I-" _I think I'm in love with you_? No. Can't say that. I don't know where this is going. "I, um... When I was a kid, before I left the castle, I used to go down to the training yard and do blade exercises with the guard." I glance up at him, and his brows are furrowed. I know. What does this have to do with Morrigan? I take a deep breath. "I have a lot of... respect... for warriors. It takes a lot of blood and sweat to get where you are. A lot of strength and hardship. And you, you're not just any common house guard, you're a Templar, and a Warden. You've been educated, and specially trained. You're... you're more than she wants to make you. She tries to push you into a little box marked "useless" and... and I see you feeling that way sometimes. She makes it worse, and I want to kill her for it."

"You're worried about my... feelings?" Oh no. He's figured me out. I squeeze my eyes shut, turning red again. If I duck my head, maybe I can hide behind my hair.

"Um... actually... yes... a... a lot." Why can I only whisper?

He is saying unbelievable things. He cares about me? Wait, what? Can I care for him the same way? Yes! Wait. Um. This is a joke, right? "It's a little too soon..." What am I saying? I could smack myself.

"Well, is it too soon for this?" _Oh, and this is a kiss, no more imagining, 'what would a kiss be like?', this is it, your kiss, your lips, the scent of your skin, the softness of your hair... Oh, Maker, the things you are doing to my mouth. "Simply" a kiss? No such thing. I could stay here forever. I lean into your arms. I wish we didn't have armour on. I've never felt this way in all my life, never wanted anything so much as this. It is only you, only you. Anything you want, Alistair, anything you want, I'll be it, I'll do it, you can have it. Just don't, just don't let go._


	6. Foraging for Kisses

His face had fallen, so quickly. I felt like I had just kicked his favourite kitten.

Just because I was... am... in pain, doesn't mean that his is less. He's lost just as much... if not more... than I have.

Yes, I had a family. To have my entire life ripped away from me... well, it's been hell.

But which is worse: to have the family of your whole life taken from you, or to lose the family you just finally found?

How do you compare two depths of hopelessness?

We are both in this together. _We_ are the only family we have.

And so I follow him into the dark, into the woods, to gather wood for the camp fire, and to look for edibles that only I can really spot without poisoning us.

He calls me our leader. Can he really have no idea? I look to him for _everything_. I can make the decisions, and I often _do_, but not without him. I find myself generally agreeing to anything he asks of me, because it is he who asks it. Few times have I gone against him. He puts me forward, but he leads from behind me. Why can he not see? This is what makes us so formidable. He has the tactics, I have the diplomacy.

A lifetime of servitude, pressure from above and below, and all his decisions made for him, handed to him, without so much as a question for him to answer. A life planned out to the last detail, no matter that it went against his very nature.

Lost in my thoughts, I catch up to him much more quickly than I anticipate, and I've nearly tripped over him. He is sitting on his heels, examining the dirt with a small bulls-eye lantern. I drop down next to him, and look. "Those are a few days old. I bet these are from the ones we encountered that killed the caravan," I murmur. He nods.

I stand, but he puts the lantern down on a bare patch of dirt and props his elbows on his knees, looking in the direction that the darkspawn had travelled. I wait, but he says nothing, which isn't like him. I chew on my lip and try to decide what to do next. I shift my weight, and he looks up at me. I am caught between wanting to speak, and not knowing what to say. His eyes pin me to the spot, and I blush, I know I blush. I'm glad the lantern provides so little light.

I find myself thinking about a few nights ago when he pushed me up against a tree, our second Real Kiss. Not like the chaste little kisses we shyly share in camp. We hadn't been wearing much of our armor that night. I realize I'm touching my lips, staring at him. He's looking back down the trail. I shake my head. What had I wanted to say to him?

He stands, and I look up at him. He looks... hurt... weary... resigned. Maker, did **I** put that look on his face? "Alistair?" My voice comes out in a whisper. He turns to look at me, and something about that expression softens, just a bit. I step forward, put my hand on his arm and rest my head on his shoulder. He sighs, relaxes a bit, and puts his arms around me.

Now I remember.

"Alistair," still whispering, "I'm sorry I was so short with you. We have both lost so much... trying to compare pain is pointless."

He starts, and I look up to see a very surprised expression. "B-But I just started complaining... I didn't even remember about your family... You always remember everything I say, and I just- I'm just so stupid sometimes..."

I laugh, tears standing in my eyes, and put my finger to his lips. I shake my head. "No... you're not stupid. Never say that. That's Morrigan speaking. Being right is not a satisfaction she deserves; don't serve her that victory on a platter." I trail my fingers down his cheek, and I smile at him. I think of all the things that I love about him, and I try to show them in the way that I look at him now. The worry and the doubt begin to smooth into wonder as he studies my face. "I'll forgive you, if you forgive me," I say.

He laughs softly, and my hearts skips. I did it, I called his humour back. "Is that a fair coin? My forgiveness is so easily won. Well, by you, anyway." His smile is wry, and I laugh.

I pretend to consider. "All right, you've talked me into it. I can see that I didn't demand enough by far."

He raises his eyebrows. "Oh... And what _else_ do you want?"

I try to assume a self-important air, which is a little bit hard when he's got his arms around me. I'm not very convincing, but I lift my chin a bit. "I demand satisfaction, ser. You must pay me in... kisses."

"Kisses, is it?"

"Um, yes... And... uh... you have to beg."

"Oh! _And_ begging!" Laughter in his voice, seriousness in his eyes.

He tucks one of my braids behind my ear the gesture naturally moving into his fingers sliding along my jaw. He tips my chin up as he closes the distance between us. I close my eyes. Just as his lips brush against mine, he pauses. "Please. Forgive me," he whispers against my mouth.

My breath catches, and that's when he kisses me. I melt against him. He pulls me tightly to his chest, and I am grateful once again for the lack of heavy armour. I can feel the heat of him. I press forward as the kiss deepens. His hand slides down to my lower back, pressing our stomachs together. I gasp and slide my leg against his. I feel myself arching against him, the way he holds me, and I cling to him. His hair is soft and his shoulders strong.

Then I feel... something else. Something against my hip. I still in his arms, and the kiss softens, fades. I pull back a little bit from him, just enough to catch his eyes. There is no embarrassment, no blush, no stammering or excuses. Just honesty, vulnerability. Now he looks a little nervous. "Errr..." He starts, but I quickly kiss him again, before he can say anything.

I lean against him, smiling, feeling mischievous. "I... didn't know you felt that way," I say, quoting him. He favours me with that lopsided grin of his, and I blush again.

"Fooled you, then, didn't I." I giggle, and back up a pace, separating us. He catches my hands in his, and pulls me back in for another quick kiss. I can just barely hear Sten rumbling at the camp about searching for us. I sigh.

"Duty calls," I comment. Alistair sighs, too. He gathers up the bundle of wood he had been carrying. I get the lamp, and cast about for something edible. Within a minute or two, I've got a basket full of wild mushrooms and watercress, and we are returning to the camp.

I go over to the fire and set down my harvest while he tends to the flames. Leliana draws me aside, turning her back to the fire, making sure to put herself between me and the rest of the party. In an undertone, she says, "You might want to wear a darker colour, next time you have a tryst with your Warden in the woods." Her eyes sparkle with humour. I blush, realizing I've been found out. It's not as though we were rolling about on the ground like animals. I check myself over, but I don't see anything.

"Is there something on my face? H- how..."

"You've got a mark of ownership on you." I clap a hand to my neck, but I remember there were none of _those_. She shakes her head, watching me. "A dirt hand print," she hints. I check my sleeves, the thighs of my pants. Nothing. "It couldn't be from _your_ hand; it's far too big." She is trying so hard not to laugh.

I look at my clothing again, pulling on my tunic to twist it about, but I see nothing except a bit of leaf debris on my sleeve. I look at her, completely confused.

She smiles, putting her fingertips to her lips to hold in the laugh, then leans in to whisper in my ear: "You'll never see it," she taunts playfully. "It's on your bottom."

Maker. We are _so_ not sneaky.


	7. No Secrets

"Who was that man you were talking to?"

"Why Alistair! Are you _jealous_?" I teased.

"What? No! We-ellll... maybe a _little,_ but that's not the point! I see you have a bag." He grinned and made a grab for it.

I crumpled it up and stuffed it behind my back. I put on my most innocent face. "What bag?" Then I bolted for camp.

"Hey!"

I laughed as he chased after me. The people in the market stared, a mixture of shock and curiosity. I ran out the city gates and into the open grass. I could see Morrigan's hut, away in the distance. I tripped over a rock and was slowed by an uphill slope. Long arms crushed my waist, and then we were rolling back down the hill to land in a tangled heap. I began to laugh helplessly. "Squash!" I gasped, "Squashing me!" Before I could get myself free from under his leg, he rolled on top of me and pinned my shoulders to the ground.

"Gotcha." He grinned. I tried to catch my breath, but I was laughing too hard. I looked up at him, the blue sky above us, the clouds drifting overhead, the grass high and green around us. For just one moment, I felt like an ordinary girl, tumbled in the grass, laughing with the man who might be her boyfriend... No Blight, no darkspawn, no Wardens, no treaties, no binding duty. Just us, just that moment.

He leaned down and kissed me. My breath caught and desire set me to burning. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, and he settled his weight against me. I moaned into his mouth and twined my leg around his. He put his hand at my waist, hesitantly pushing my tunic out of the way to reach the bare skin of my stomach. I shivered, the softness of my skin against the roughness of his hands a completely new sensation. He slid his hand up, and I could feel him tremble as well. I pressed toward him with a whimper, praying he would continue, but he lost nerve shy of my breast and his hand travelled over my back... safer territory.

I broke the kiss first and looked directly into his eyes. I caught his wrist and brought his hand back between us. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, and placed it directly where I wanted it. He watched his hand's progress, an almost agonized look upon his face that broke into wonder when he touched my skin. He looked to me, studying my face, and I kissed him again. He groaned and fell upon them with abandon. I arched my back, my tunic rucked up to my armpits, as he explored my breasts with lips and hands.

Never could I have dreamed how that would feel. When his lips closed over my nipple, I startled us both with a sharp cry. He jerked his head up in alarm. "Hurt?"

"No, oh, no Alistair, most definitely _not_ hurt." My voice was a bit ragged with my uneven breaths. He kissed me again, and I tasted my skin upon his lips. I melted against him, and my bare breasts brushed against the rough wool of his tunic. He trailed his hand down my side and over my hip, my breeches slipping down to expose the curve. I moaned again and he responded in kind, my obvious pleasure making him bolder. He kissed down the side of my neck and I began to gather handfuls of his shirt, pulling it up over his back. I pulled it upwards, and he rose to his knees to pull it off over his head.

He was halfway through the motion of pulling it upwards when he froze. His face turned ten shades of red as he hastily tugged it back down. He looked down at me, pain and loss in his eyes as he gently pulled my shirt down to cover my nudity. He sighed. "Duty calls," he said, almost grim. I covered my face with both hands as a shadow blotted out the sun.

"A warrior has no heart until after the war is done." Sten's disapproving rumble embarrassed me. I looked up at him through my spread fingers. "You say you are a warrior, yet you act like a woman. _Parshaara_." His mouth twisted downward in a scowl. I suddenly felt eight years old, being scolded by Aldous for failing at my lessons. Alistair sat back on his heels, looking dejected, as Sten marched off back to the camp. I covered my mouth with both hands and squeezed my eyes shut. As soon as his footsteps died away, I snorted, trying to hold back, but it was no good - I burst out laughing.

Alistair wanted to be upset, but my laughter was infectious. We stumbled back to camp, still giggling. Zevran smirked, Leliana whispered, "Darker colours!" as I passed. I sat to eat a bit of lunch. Everyone was watching us while pretending to do other things. I sighed as Alistair dropped down on the log next to me.

"That was embarrassing," he murmured.

"Where romance is concerned, there's no keeping a secret in a castle, let alone among canvas walls." I smiled. "We'll just have to get used to people knowing about us."

Alistair groaned, passed a hand over his face, then looked at me speculatively. "Well... If they're going to know anyway..." I felt my eyes widen, but before I could say anything, his hands were already in my hair, and he was kissing me, scorching hot, the way we would when no one else was watching. I held back in surprise, at first, but there was just no resisting him. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. He pulled away at last, but only far enough that he could rest his forehead against mine, and look into my eyes. I saw the humour at the corners of his eyes, and giggled.

Leliana and Zev clapped. When I looked, still blushing, I saw her drop a handful of copper coins into his hand. They both grinned.

"Hey! No bets!" I called.

"Too late!" Leliana responded. "Now, before we leave Denerim, I'm going to get that jar of honey," she purred, sauntering out of camp. Zev watched her leave, then slowly ambled after her.

I sighed, and laid my head against Alistair's shoulder. He wrapped his arm around me and kissed my forehead.

"I like the bolder you," I said.

"Really? I'll have to keep that in mind."

I remembered our first kiss, then, and oh, I blushed to think what he might decide to do next.

"So." He looked at me then and held up a small canvas sack. My sack. "What's in the bag?"

I giggled again. "Look," I invited.

He quirked an eyebrow, but he opened the bag and looked inside. The surprised look on his face was priceless.

"Oh, oh you beautiful, wonderful woman." He pulled a piece out, holding it like it was a piece of fine art.

"Fine sharp white, straight from the farm." He hugged me again. Over his shoulder, I could see Morrigan fuming, and everything suddenly fell into place. I smiled at her, showing how understanding, and completely unyielding, I could be. Her face went suddenly blank with shock, that she could be so transparent, and I smirked. She backed away, turned, and made for her shack. I nuzzled my face into his neck and sighed with happiness.

"It is such a beautiful, perfect day. I wish they could all be like this," I said. He nodded.

"Savour it," he advised, and it was my turn to nod.

"Every moment," I responded, and kissed his neck again.


	8. Song for a Winter's Night

_In Kambriana's mind..._

Snow fell again while we slept, and the mountains are rocky, hard, and cold. The world is silent in the aftermath of the snow fall. That's how I could hear you in the distance, the sounds of battle and cries of pain. I run to you, I fight them with you, and the spawn fall to our blades. We stand back to back, and we take them all down. After this, blood on the snow, and you turn to me, and the look in your eyes is feral.

I know you thought we were both about to die, there were so many of them, and you pull me closer to you. How lonely you thought you would die, but here I am, and we are not alone any more. You can hold on to me, and whisper words of love in my ear. I can hold your hands, kiss you here, as the dawn rises, steals across the snow, and shines off of our armour. What a fitting place, kisses on the battlefield, blood on our hands, in our armour, in my hair, and I don't care. I'm content to hold you here, to be held by you, in the never ending winter of the Frostbacks, at the gates of Orzammar, just to be here with you.


	9. Weakness

The Deep Roads. Hadn't he told me? He _had_ warned me. This is where we go to die. I closed my eyes as the pain flared again. The battle had been deadly enough that even Wynne couldn't fix me. We had to go back to camp, I had to heal, we had to waste time we didn't have, coddling me. I think my anger at my own weakness was all that kept me alive, on that long trek back from the Dead Trenches.

That, and him. Once again, waking up on a cold stone floor, from certain death, to find his face leaning over mine, worry and relief warring for precedence. I opened my eyes in the blinding light of the torches of Caridin's Cross. Torches? Blinding? More than a concussion... Fractures... Broken arm... I'd been losing time again. Not good. I must have slept over an hour. He looked down at me, sweat standing out on his forehead as he carried the end of the sledge through the stifling heat of the Dwarven realms. He tried on a smile, bravado to reassure me, but I could tell by the grim set of his mouth a moment before that I was in bad shape. I could hear the blood pattering down as it soaked through the cloth, and a wave of dizziness overtook me. I realized I couldn't feel my leg.

Next thing I knew, we were passing through the gates of Orzammar. The cold air hit me like a hammer, and I began to shudder. I'm ashamed to admit that I screamed, then, as everything that was broken and bloody began to shift and stab at me with the shaking. Startled, he nearly dropped me. Fortunately, the nigh-unflappable Sten held me secure at the other end. I suspected Sten could have carried me out all on his own, but Alistair never would have allowed that, protective as he was.

Fractured moments:  
Wynne, her cold hand against my forehead: "...infection..."  
"...be on her feet again?" Alistair asked.  
Sten's voice, "She is a warrior..."  
Morrigan, irritated, "...not enough time..."  
Leliana's voice rising in song.  
A horrible smell!  
Zevran, "...take a turn while you..."  
Alistair's voice, cracking with fear. _"Don't worry,"_ I said, _"I'll be fine..."_ I don't think I actually managed to talk.  
Wynne, a cup of bitter liquid, holding up my head, gagging on the flavor.  
Raster lying next to me, his big head holding down my arm, frowning; he pushed his nose against my cheek, trying to rouse me, but it was no good. His scent drowned out whatever that smell was, and I lay my head against his shoulder.  
Was Alistair brushing my hair? Maybe that was a dream.

I woke again, swaddled in bandages and splints. The sound of snoring was very near. Rolling my eyes to the side, I found him there, next to me, asleep. His face was dirty and smudged with soot, and I could tell by the shadows under his eyes that he had been exhausted. He had also forgotten to take off his boots. I wanted to move, but I could tell that would be a very bad plan by the stabbing pain in my ribs. The ogre must've broken a few of them when he crushed me in his terrifying grip.

Looking to the other side, I realized that I was in Alistair's tent. His armor and gear were piled in the corner where they had been dropped in his exhaustion. I felt guilt at having to be carried all the way out of Orzammar. I should have been on my feet. I cursed my own weakness again. _What was that smell?_

I was confused about being in there, at first, but then I realized, well, my bedroll was hardly a good place for someone so injured to recuperate. Outside, under the stars... I loved sleeping there, cold as it was up here in the Frostbacks, but I could just see Wynne, standing there, insisting that I be kept warm. Which was probably why his arm was flung about my waist. It was a pleasant thing to contemplate, but I didn't have much time to do so before my stomach rolled a bit, as the pain swept over me again. I gritted my teeth, trying to stay quiet enough that he wouldn't wake. After a few moments, it passed, and I sagged back, tired and sore to my very soul.

This was not what I'd had in mind when I used to dream about what it might be like to wake up next to a man for the first time. _"Have __**you**__ ever licked a lamppost in winter?"_ Remembering how bashful and awkward we had been, two virgins trying to be suave, I almost laughed, but the expansion in my ribs brought tears to my eyes, and I ended up sobbing instead. That woke him, and he sat up suddenly. An angry look crossed his face, and his voice was querulous as he said, quite distinctly: "I haven't caught enough chickens!" I sobbed out my laugh again. He sort of shook himself, blinking, and scrubbed at his face with both hands. _Maker, what was that terrible __**smell**__?_

Apparently remembering where he was, he turned to look at me, then. He blushed scarlet, and cleared his throat. I smiled weakly and said, "Don't worry, I promise I didn't take advantage of you while you slept." He laughed at that, and it was a relief to hear it, a small piece of normal. I smiled again as my eyes slipped shut, the sound of his voice in my ears. _What __**was**__ that smell?_ I fell asleep anyway, as he left the tent; a cold draft touched my toes briefly.

I pried my eyes open in the morning light. Alistair was snoring next to me again, his arm about my waist. He hadn't shaved. I raised my hand and trailed it across his roughened cheek. He snored on. I sat up, and my ribs twinged, but no longer felt broken. I realized I was using both my hands. Checking myself over, I was glad to see that the damage dealt me yesterday afternoon had been healed by the magic of the kits.

I traced my finger over the shiny pink scar on the inside of my thigh. Seeing it for myself, I was amazed that I survived long enough to make it back to camp. I unwound the disintegrating remains of the kits to throw in the fire later. Realizing my near-nakedness, I cast about for something to wear, and picked up one of Alistair's tunics that was lying next to the pallet I'd been sleeping on. His, I noticed, when I saw him lying on the ground. My heart swelled, and I loved him just that little bit more.

I smelled the tunic - it was clean - and breathed in his scent: the outdoors, rain, the forest, smoke from the fire, and him. I closed my eyes and smiled, then tugged it on over my head. It fell nearly to my knees, and I smiled again, noticing once more how much taller and broad-shouldered than me he was. I looked down at him while he was sleeping, and then I saw it. There it was, looking all innocent, right next to the cloak I'd been using as a pillow. The source of the _smell,_ my torment overnight: a dirty, crusty, rolled up sock. Maker. Wynne was right.

My first thought was to repay him by washing them for him. Then again, I'd have to touch them.

I crept out of the tent to make some breakfast. What do you know - I was hungry anyway.


	10. Taking Turns

I opened my eyes, feeling dizzy and confused. I saw a sliver of blue sky among the thick foliage of the forest over my head. I wasn't in Alistair's tent or my bedroll, and I couldn't remember for the life of me why I was sleeping in the open.

"'Tis time to wake up, Warden." Morrigan's voice captured my attention, and I turned to see the apostate kneeling beside me and touching my shoulder. She cast a spell on me, and the dizziness suddenly disappeared.

"Where are we?"

I sat up and saw Leliana and Alistair lying on the ground next to me, right by a camp fire in the forest. I tried to get up but Morrigan stopped me, pushing on my shoulder, and I found out that I didn't feel strong enough to resist.

"Do not move Warden. They are only sleeping now, I will take care of them." She paused for a moment, observing me closely. "Even the dim-witted fool."

I frowned at the remark, but let it pass, since I felt too weak to fight about it. "What happened?"

"You don't remember, I see. We are in the Brecilian Forest. A powerful Shade was luring wayfarers in this camp site, sucking their life force out of them while they slept. I managed to stay awake, and defeated it."

"Really?"

"Yes, _really._ Now, if you don't mind, I'll wake the others so we can leave this bloody place."

"Uhm, Morrigan…"

"Yes?"

"I... Thank you."

"Glad to finally have your _approval_, Warden," Morrigan replied with a snort.

A few moments later Leliana and Alistair were awake, and just as confused as I had been. "As soon as you two feel better we're going back to the Dalish camp," I said to my companions. "We need to recover." I met Alistair's troubled look for a moment and shivered.

.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.

_We could all be dead.  
Just like that.  
Without a fight, without a chance._

Morrigan, of all people, had saved us. I frowned and threw a little twig into the fire.

I should have known better. I shouldn't have let them fall into such an obvious trap, but I had been curious… They could all be _dead_, because of _me_ – _Alistair_ could be dead.

I got up from the log I was sitting upon and strode to the outskirts of the Dalish camp in a fury. I couldn't sit there by the fire any longer, my companions pretending _not to look_ at me, pretending that everything was _fine_.

As soon as I reached the camp limits, I leaned my back against a tree for a moment, trying to contain my rage, then turned around and started punching and kicking at it. _Stupid! Stupid! We could all be dead! Your fault! Your fault!_

"What did that poor tree ever do to you?" I was so angry, I hadn't even heard Alistair approaching. He was trying to be playful, as usual, but his expression gave away his concern.

"Oh!" My anger vanished immediately, leaving me deflated. I rubbed at my sore knuckles, suddenly feeling every blow. "Uh, I..." I sighed. "I'm so sorry for what happened today."

"Hey, you don't need to be. You didn't exactly _coerce_ us into exploring that place. If I remember correctly, Leliana said something about a chest _she_ wanted to check..."

"Alistair, you don't understand! We nearly _died_... I almost got you killed," I finished in a whisper.

"I... I know we were in peril, but it's _not_ your fault." He closed in on me and put his arms around my waist, looking into my eyes. "You can't blame yourself for everything that goes wrong, you know. Even if you _hadn't_ been in command, we'd have checked out that place anyway. It seems strange to say it, but luckily we had Morrigan with us. And I must stress that it was _you_ who decided that she had to come with us." He pushed a lock of hair behind my ear. "So, in a sense, you _did_ save us all."

I put my head on his shoulder and sighed. "I don't know. Maybe I'm not fit for the role. I'm serious, Alistair," I added, as I saw him open his mouth to protest. "We could have _died_. Today. No more Blight, no more fighting the darkspawn. No more travelling, or listening to Leliana's songs by the camp fire, or glaring at Zevran…"

Alistair chuckled. "He would hardly be missed!"

"No more kissing you," I whispered.

"Oh, now, _that_ would be missed!"

I looked up at him and reached out with my hand, touching his cheek. He leaned forward and kissed me. He meant it to be a soft, romantic kiss, but my eager response overwhelmed him. I bit his lower lip, almost drawing blood, and he tightened his hold upon my body, deepening the kiss in reflex and pushing me back against the tree. In a matter of seconds we were both panting and grasping at each others' clothes.

Alistair's hand slipped under the thin material of my shirt, moving swiftly toward a breast. I gasped when he gently squeezed the firm, round flesh in his hand, and when his thumb grazed a nipple I arched toward his body, instinctively rubbing my hips against his.

He broke the kiss and ducked his head to my neck, where he started kissing and nibbling at the sensitive skin under my ear. His free hand pulled my shirt upwards until my breasts came into view. He moved his head back then, admiring me in the soft light shed by the moon.

"Maker, you're _so beautiful_."

I whimpered and reached for his shirt, tugging at it ineffectively. "Not fair," I whispered.

He chuckled and complied with my unspoken request, leaning back a bit more and taking his shirt off. I watched him with half-hooded eyes, drinking in his shoulders and chest, almost oblivious to my own partial nakedness. He grinned smugly at my pleased reaction, and I grabbed his hair, pulling him to me and kissing him fiercely, trying to wipe that smirk off his face.

My shirt came off soon after, and Alistair's hands slid under the fabric of my breeches, skimming over the top of my small-clothes. I sucked in a breath and spoke softly. "Bolder, huh?"

"I-I'm sorry..."

"Don't. Don't be." I put my free hand above his, pushing it slightly downwards. He took the hint and plunged it under the fabric, making me gasp at the sudden contact. He caressed my mound, leaning against me with the rest of his body, unaware that he was pushing his erection against my hip.

His hand moved over my folds, feeling my softness, and he groaned when he felt how wet I was. "Show me... show me how…"

I took his hand and moved it slowly over my folds, whimpering at the contact, until one of his fingers rested upon a little nub, then circled it, under my guidance. I moaned loudly and arched my back against the tree, pushing myself more firmly against his hand.

He repeated those motions, all the while kissing my neck and lips, until I started trembling against him and had to wrap my arms around his neck for support.

"Please... Alistair! Don't stop... I..." I let out a long, guttural moan, and he gasped as he felt me falling apart in his arms.

"Ah, Maker, Kambriana..." He whispered in her ear, waiting for me to catch my breath.

After a long moment I opened my eyes and looked at him, taking in his feverish eyes. I kissed him passionately, running a hand from the nape of his neck to his chest, inching towards his breeches.

He caught my hand before I could reach the fabric and took a deep breath before speaking. "Kambriana, this was..." He swallowed audibly, trying to calm down and steady his voice. "You are amazing, and this was the most incredible thing... I mean... We..."

I stroked his cheek in a reassuring gesture and he leaned briefly in my touch, closing his eyes. He inhaled again and watched me intently. "We are _alive_, my dear, and we are together. You don't need to do _this_. You don't have to do _anything_." He kissed the hand he was holding in his own and smiled at me.

I was slowly coming to understand. He wanted to be my knight in shining armour. I giggled, pulling him forward again by the waistband of his breeches. "Nonono. You won't get away _that_ easily, my love."

He watched me, somewhat dazed. "Huh?"

I gently pulled my hand away from his grasp and ran it lightly over his lower abdomen. I grinned devilishly. "Fair's fair - I think... it's _your_ turn, now."

"Oh." He licked his lips, nervousness in his eyes. "Oh!" he exclaimed as my hand slid lower, easily slipping under the ties of his pants. And then, "Ohhh..." as his control slipped. He braced himself against the tree with one hand to keep from falling forward.

My breath shuddered as I felt, for the first time, how coarse his hair. I moved my fingers against the silken skin that strained his breeches, and he gasped. I looked up quickly, checking his reaction. His brow was furrowed, eyes squeezed tightly closed. I kissed him as I slid my fingers along that hard length I had felt against me so many times. He groaned, pressing me back toward the tree.

His free hand tugged at his laces, creating more space. Gently, he guided my hand, and I closed my fingers around him. His breath caught, becoming ragged as I experimentally squeezed and tugged. His hand fell away, in favour of roaming my waist as he leaned into my hand. His elbow gave way, and he caught himself on his forearm, his eyes fluttering open to look at me, to catch my eyes.

I went up on my toes, arching against him to kiss him again, my bare breasts brushing against his naked chest, and he shuddered, whispering my name. A moment later, his face twisted, almost as though he were in pain, but his breath, coming in quick gasps, so like my own only minutes before, told me that he was close to his own release. He crushed me against his chest, burying his face in my neck as he shivered and pulsed under my hand. He whimpered under his breath, and then moaned into my hair as a hot, wet flood poured over my fingers.

I gasped, suddenly afraid I'd hurt him, but he kissed my neck so fiercely, then covered my face in kisses. I laughed and pulled my hand away, and he backed up a breath. I looked at what I held in my hand, and then at him in confusion. He blushed, embarrassed. I plucked a leaf from a nearby tree and transferred the stuff to the soft underside as my fingers became sticky. I looked up, met his eyes, saw the desire there, and flung my arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms tightly around my waist, as we kissed.

Breathless, we parted at last. I held his face in my hands. "I love you, Alistair. I love you _so_ much. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you. Never."

"I guess it was _my_ turn to frighten _you_," he replied, thinking of Orzammar. "I'm not going anywhere, my rose, I promise you," he breathed, as his lips softly closed over mine again.


	11. Healer's Orders

Werewolves - I understand them. Creatures that have been tainted, magically altered, these are things that make sense to me. After all, I fight the darkspawn, every day. As persuasive and diplomatic as I can be, I cannot convince Swiftrunner, the vanguard of the werewolves, of my peaceful intentions. Why do they force my hand like this? Why must I kill them, when all I want to do is talk this out and settle things, so everyone can live peaceably? I do not want to cross blades to claws with the children of Witherfang. Feuds are ridiculous in such times as these.

Sighing, I make my way out of the Dalish camp, Alistair at my side. Wynne and Zevran follow behind, good naturedly bickering as Zev attempts to put the moves on Wynne again. My heart weighs heavy as I hear another group of the werewolves lying in wait for us around the side of a hill. I stop, motioning to everyone to hang back, and advance several paces to appear in their line of vision. My hands are empty.

"Please, can we just talk abou-" The werewolves do not give me time to finish speaking, and lope toward me, teeth bared and claws forward. I quickly back-pedal and rejoin the group. Wynne stops them in their tracks with a glyph, and we all try to put them down as quickly and humanely as possible. When the battle is over, I arrange their bodies carefully, respectfully, tears standing in my eyes.

Alistair pulls me aside, away from the others, and paces in front of me. "Why do you cry over them? Every time! You know they just tried to _kill_ us, right?" He pauses to point a finger at me as I open her mouth to respond, but he barks at me. "No! I'm not done yet." The look on his face is fierce, and I snap her mouth shut, eyes a little wide. He resumes his pacing.

"They have come very _close_ to killing us, to killing _you_." Restlessly, his hands flexing, he stalks toward me and grabs me by the shoulders - gently, despite his anger - and leans down, trying to get me to look him in the eye. "Have you forgotten: just last night, Sten had to carry you back to the camp because they..." He swallows, looking sick. "They tore your _chest_ open. So badly that I could see your bones?" I bow my head. "Your _**bones**_, Kambriana!" It is the first time he has actually shouted at me; he is very intimidating like this, and I cover my face with my hands.

Gently, he pulls my hands away, catching my eyes again. "This _was_ worse than Orzammar, Kambriana. We were closer to camp, you lost less blood, and there wasn't any infection, but _Maker_, if you had been wounded that badly down in the Deep Roads..." His voice drops to an agonized whisper. "...you wouldn't have made it out."

I can feel my face twist with the force of the pain his statement brings. "That was _Darkspawn_, though. These... werewolves, they're people. They still talk, think, feel. This is horrifying! Don't they deserve some measure of respect, in death?"

His face twists in anger, and he bites off each word with steel in his voice. "Some of the _darkspawn_ were people, too. Should we walk across battlefields, blessing _their_ dead?"

"That's different! These werewolves don't rampage across the land, killing everything in their wake, polluting the earth and eating babies. They remember being people! You saw Danyla, didn't you? You didn't object to me raising a cairn _then_."

We both fall silent, glaring at each other. At last, I lower my eyes; his face softens and his shoulders drop. He sighs. "You're right. There is a difference." He takes off his helm and scrubs his fingers through his hair.

"I just want to get to this Witherfang as quickly as I can, so we can put all this _murder_ behind us. Darkspawn I can kill all day and feel nothing but tired." I gesture toward the bodies of the fallen werewolves. "This, though... This makes me sick at heart." Alistair puts his arms around my shoulders and pulls me as close as our armour will allow. I rest my head on his pauldron, briefly, then sigh. "Come on, let's give this acorn back to the Oak, and see if he can help us through that strange fog."

I call to the others, who follow along quietly, perhaps sensing the tension between us; perhaps having overheard our argument. I can't find it in me to be embarrassed about it at the moment.

.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.

Despite my best efforts to the contrary, I am forced to paint the day red. In the end, it is Zathrian who cannot listen to reason, and he attacks. I am immediately imprisoned, impaled, and crushed in the cursed roots, and I scream as the knifing tendrils penetrate my armour. I land on my feet, and see Wynne wrapped in the brambles of a cursed oak. Zevran and Alistair keep Zathrian well occupied, so I circle behind the oak and begin hacking away at its base, wielding lethal daggers wreathed in flame.

Wynne is released as the oak turns its attentions on me. With Wynne's constant healing, I am able to make short work of the tree, and leave its hulking mass in flames. When I turn, Alistair rises from the floor, and runs back toward Zathrian.

I am caught by the roots of the other oak, and hit the floor gasping. A quick sprint puts me across the room and into the path of that oak which is trying to get to Wynne. I try to circle, but it has me in its sights, and throws me to her back. It takes me a small eternity to set this one ablaze, as well, and soon I am leaping over it to help take down Zathrian at last. He falls to the floor when Alistair finally lands a heavy blow upon the top of Zathrian's head, and I let the blade of my flaming dagger light the side of his face.

It is then, at this last moment, when he finally submits to the inevitable, and surrenders himself to the release of the curse.

I stand there, staring at the floor. Why must they always force my hand?

At last, I stagger out of the old temple, completely exhausted, and drop to the ground outside in the gathering twilight. I pull my helm off and turn my face to the breeze, sweat drying in my hair. Alistair walks toward a nearby rock, and collapses on the moss before reaching it. I leap to my feet, but Wynne is already next to him.

I look back toward the entrance, and see the trail of blood he left behind. I curse myself for not noticing, and stand there helplessly as Wynne and Zevran roll him over and unbuckle his greaves and cuisses, finally locating an injury high on the inside and back of his thigh. Wynne puts her hands above the wound and begins to cast. Zevran backs away to stand by me.

I press my knuckles to my mouth, as Wynne begins to cast a second time. Zevran lays a comforting hand on my shoulder and I look at him, feeling completely wild. He pulls me down to sit, and I grip his hand. Wynne shakes her head and pulls out a heavy injury kit. I drop my face into my hands and lean toward Zevran. He wraps an arm around my shoulders, and we wait.

I look up sharply when I hears his voice. He groans as he sits up and rubs at his head, winces as he moves his leg experimentally. "There's nothing like a brush with death to make you... not like death much."

.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.

The next day is long and soul-crushing. With all the werewolves returned to their former appearances, the forest is littered with the bodies of elves and humans. Teams of four comb through the under-brush, locating the fallen. Each body is wrapped in a shroud and carried to one of two ledges hugging a waterfall, according to their race.

At first, the Dalish wish only to collect their own fallen, but a successful argument about practicalities from Sten and Morrigan puts an end to it. The Dalish agree that polluting the forest would be to the detriment of all. Kambriana is furious about it, arguing that the curse affected both elves and humans alike, that they all fell together and for the same reasons, but the Dalish will not budge, and in the end, there are two cairns raised. The stone is unforgiving to creatures of mere flesh and bone, and every single person needs healing and rest by the end of the day.

Nevertheless, the evening finds the Wardens crouched beside the fire of their own camp, Kambriana's map of Ferelden spread out on the ground, stones weighing down the corners. Their fingers trace the curves of roads and rivers; they speak in terms of times, distances, watches and food stores. Leliana approaches Wynne in the shadows between the tents. She stands next to the elder healer and casts her a sideways glance. Wynne quirks an eyebrow, and Leliana takes a breath.

"So... It looks as though our Wardens are planning on breaking camp in the morning." She pitches her voice low, so it will not carry. A thread of worry runs through her tone.

Wynne sighs and nods.

"Well... don't you think perhaps they need to rest a bit, maybe just for a day? After all... for the last month, it seems every time they leave, one of them comes back to camp unconscious or near death. Mostly both."

"What do you propose?

"Well, perhaps they simply need... _permission_ to rest. You know. From an _authority_ figure. Someone they can't really _argue_ with." Wynne looks at Leliana speculatively, then a smile curves her lips. Leliana smiles back.

Wynne stares at the pair a while, then approaches the fire. When they look up at her, she studies their faces. Kambriana is pale, her cheeks hollow and her eyes bruised with fatigue. Alistair's forehead has developed a permanent wrinkle, and his eyes, too, are shadowed with too much exhaustion, his jaw a little sharper than it should be. Both of them are covered in fresh, visible scars. Wynne narrows her eyes.

"You aren't seriously planning to pull up stakes in the morning, are you?" Both of them blink, startled. Neither respond. Wynne snorts, exasperated. She points her finger at them, waggling it back and forth to take in the pair of them.

"You have _both_ been taxing my abilities to the limit, coming into camp half dead too many times in a row. You're too tired to be at your best or to fight effectively, and too stubborn to lie down and sleep or even take time to eat. You're both going to end up dead before you ever get to the archdemon if you don't take the time to rest." Her face and voice are stern enough to make Sten take pause, and the warrior giant watches with inscrutable eyes.

They stare at her, shocked, like children being scolded by their grandmother.

"We are _staying here_, and you are resting for at least one day and one night. Ah-ah! No. I'll not hear any argument. Your bodies will not carry you much farther if you don't get some rest." Wynne reaches down and plucks the map off of the ground. She rolls it up and ties the leather case back together. Alistair and Kambriana exchange glances, then look back at Wynne. Wynne's expression is calm and firm.

They cave.

.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.

In the morning, I wake with a stifled groan. I struggle to my feet with aching joints, grab a mouthful of dried fruit from the communal camp pouch, and bumble down to the river to wash in the icy flow. I lie back upon the moss and stare at the mottled sky above: sunshine yellow, every shade of green, bright glimpses of blue as the leaves shiver and the trees sway in the wind. A bird is chirping away somewhere nearby. A woodpecker digs for its breakfast.

After a time, a rabbit scampers through the brush, announcing the approach of Alistair.

I lift my head and see him in the same weary state. I offer him a smile, and he returns it, before heading down to the stream, himself. Minutes later, he returns and lies back on the moss next to me. The river tumbles and burbles, a cloud passes by. Somewhere, a falcon announces the presence of prey. I close my eyes; the air smells of the green, the water, and the sweet scent of elfroot warmed by the sun.

His fingers intertwine with mine, and I sigh, content with the moment. A shadow falls across my face, and I open my eyes to see him above me. I stretch, languid as a cat, and turn that motion into wrapping my arms around his neck. He settles his weight comfortably against my side. When he kisses me, he tastes of apricots and wild honey.

I roll toward him and wrap my leg around his hip. We lie like that, intertwined in the sunlight, and talk. We speak of things that matter only to us, exchanging stories of childhood and castle life, and find that, though our stations in life were very different, our experiences were much the same. We laugh, and hold each other close. He rolls to his back, head pillowed on his arm, and the other around me, so I lay my head on his shoulder, one leg draped over his, an arm around his waist.

For now, it is enough.

.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.

We return, hand in hand, to an empty camp. In the distance, toward the centre of the Dalish camp, Leliana's lute can be heard, her voice risen in song.

"Wow, we have the place to ourselves. That's rare," I comment, and look up at him. He is watching me, a serious look on his face. "What is it?"

"You remember what you said about being bolder?"

"What, that I _liked_ it?" I ask, suddenly feeling full of mischief.

He does not respond. Instead, he gathers me in his arms, and kisses me deeply. I make a small noise in my throat and press against him. He lifts me off my feet; I wrap my legs around his waist. He holds me tightly and carries me to his tent.

I fall among the tangled blankets of his bedroll, my hair fanning out across the pillow. He looks as though he is about to speak, but I pull him down on top of me, and he kisses me again. The long line of our bodies press together, and he groans quietly. He slips a hand under my lower back, pulling my hips more tightly against him. I buck, instinctively, making us both gasp.

We look at each other a moment, both startled, but then I feel a rush of raw desire. He looks surprised, then awed. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and draw him down again, and we kiss, this time more slowly, but deeper, and with more heat. He runs his hands up my ribs, gathering my shirt in his hands. We break the kiss impatiently, and I tug it off over my head. He tries to renew the kiss, but I pull up his tunic; no sense in having to stop twice. He relinquishes it quickly to return to me.

I gasp at the sudden contact of skin and arch toward him, pressing my belly against his. He bends his head to my neck, kissing the space beneath my ear, and I whisper his name. He wraps me in his arms, one at my waist, the other around my shoulders, cradling my head in his hand, and continues to kiss down my neck, across my collar bone. I smell elfroot and moss, wind and water. I slowly tilt my head back, nuzzling my cheek against his arm. my hands roam over his back, rising to his shoulders, humming voice rising in pitch as his lips travel lower.

I come undone and begin to whimper when he reaches my breast, and cry out softly as he gently rolls my nipple over his tongue. He pulls his arm from under my head to raise himself up, so he can run his swordsman's hand over my quivering belly. I tangle my fingers in his hair as he moves his attentions to the other breast, and my breathing quickens. He turns his hand over, brushing his knuckles against my skin as it slides ever closer to the waist of my pants, and I sway my hips upward, pushing the ties to his fingers in silent invitation.

He unties them easily, and they loosen as he slides his hand under them. He sucks in a breath as he realizes I neglected to wear anything beneath. I grin, and moan as my hips rise of their own accord. I pull his face back up to kiss him again as he begins to move his fingers in just the right way. I shudder under his hand, crying into his mouth. I suddenly have an idea, and break the kiss abruptly, pulling away, breathless. I smile, giving him that mischievous look he knows so well. He rises to his knees to give me room as I sit up, and I follow him, looking at him from the tops of my eyes. I hold his face in my hands as I lay a gentle kiss upon his lips.

I giggle as I tug at the laces to his pants, but my trembling fingers put the lie to my smile. He touches my wrists. "Uh..." Trying breathe, he starts again. "You know I've never done this..."

I nod, swallowing. I slowly stroke my hands up his arms. "Neither have I."

"I'm all... hands..."

I kiss him again, on his cheeks, his mouth. "But, Alistair... I _love_ your hands."

"I want it to be right. For you," he murmurs as he kisses my collar bone, my shoulder.

"It's _you_. So it already is," I whisper.

He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, then plunges his hand into my hair, and claims my mouth. I wrap my arms around his shoulders again with a small whimper. He runs his hands down my back and slowly slides my breeches off my hips, touching my backside for the first time. I sway toward him, and wriggle my legs, letting them slide off over my knees.

He pulls back to look at me, naked, and is completely thunderstruck. I blush and smile for him. "_Maker..._" he whispers. I inch forward on my knees and tug at the waist of his breeches.

"Not fair," I complain, smirking. His pulse jumps in his neck as I slowly pull the knots out and his erection springs free. I feel my eyes widen, and I swallow, momentarily intimidated. I look up at him, at his lopsided smile. It is still _him_, we are still _us_. Feeling slightly daunted, I return to familiar territory, rising back to my knees and kissing him again.

But everything is different, this time, as we come skin to skin. I tremble in his arms as he wraps them around me once more. He tangles his hand in my hair, his other hand sliding down over my hip, pulling me closer at the waist, travelling down my thigh, uninterrupted by clothing. I lose myself in the heat, the scent, the texture of his skin, exploring everything that had felt so forbidden before.

My hands roam down his chest and over his hips, shyly stroking along the length of him with shaking fingers. He stifles a groan, and this pulls strings low within me; I whimper in response, excited by the mere fact that I can give him such pleasure, and I want, _so very badly_, to please him.

I slide my thigh along his, sway forward, and pull him toward me. He leans forward and catches himself on his arm as we fall toward the floor. My leg rises along his, coming to rest over his hip, the other trapped between his. My heart is a butterfly caught between cupped hands.

I see him stripped of all his pretence, the intensity of his love and desire for me naked in his eyes. He, the only man I have ever loved, have ever touched.

I draw a heavy breath, moving against him, and it elicits small moans from both of us. We kiss passionately, pressing as close together as our trembling arms will allow. At last, the kiss fades, and I sag back, both of us breathless. He smooths his hand over my cheek and I turns my face to it, kissing the pad of his thumb, rolling my eyes up to look at him.

His hip is wet with my desire and I can feel the swollen hardness of him resting against my thigh, the pulse every time I move just _so_. I drink in the incredible sight of him, his body, all that muscle and strength, poised above me.

I shiver and hold my arms out for him again. Slowly, he slides his other leg between mine, pushing the trapped one out to the side, as he watches my face intently. I bite my lip, the flicker of fear echoed in his eyes. My head falls to the side as his leg slides up the inside of my thigh. He leans down to kiss my neck and I moan, arching upward, and all that wetness brushes against the length of him.

He exclaims wordlessly, a heavy gasp, and at the touch of that silken hardness, I cry out and all my self-control deserts me. Slowly, slowly, he moves against me, until I can feel it, resting against me, the tightness of it, the place where we should be joined. My breath quickens and I begin to shiver, wanting him so much it aches. "Alistair... Alistair..." I whisper his name like a prayer.

He holds his breath and grits his teeth as I writhe against him, fighting with a barrier I don't fully understand. The sweat stands out on our skin as I flex my thighs against his hips.

Suddenly, with a burst of shocking pain, the barrier gives way, and he is inside me.

My head snaps back and I cry out, the pain quickly overwhelmed by the shining pleasure of the thickness, the length, the hardness, the _fact_ of him, that it is _him_. My knight, my Warden, my best friend, my "Alistair!", sobbed into the sunlit afternoon.

He gasps in surprise, then groans softly as he sinks into me. He gathers me up in his arms, holding me close to his chest, and I curl against his shoulder. My hand shaking as I reach up, I lay it against his cheek, nuzzling my face into his neck, quaking helplessly as I cling to him. "Oh! I- oh- _ohhh..._" I whimper, inarticulate.

"Okay?" he asks quickly, swallowing twice before he can speak. He seems frozen. I nod, but he doesn't seem to be able to tell. "You okay?"

I hold tighter, afraid that he will stop, and try to breathe. "Yes... oh, yes, please-" I whisper, then moan as my body pulses around him. He inhales sharply, and forgets whatever it was that was keeping him from moving.

My breath catches, his length bowing my back as he slides within me, that tight ring of pain relaxing. My breathing grows frantic and the shuddering heat grows, heavier and heavier, so much faster than I am used to it happening. He seems to be bringing me just by the sheer fact of his presence. He pulls me closer, lifting me off the floor, and groans as I release. I hold weakly to him, softly keening. "Oh, _Kambriana_... you are so amazing... so beautiful..." he whispers.

When I have nearly caught my breath, he begins to move again, and I writhe for him. I burn for him, the weight of him against my hips, the heaviness of him inside me makes my eyes flutter closed, tears slipping out of them freely. He bends his head to my breast; when his tongue darts over my nipple, I arch upward as though drawn on a string, a line of fire searing down my body from his lips to my sex.

I grip him tightly from within, and hear his voice, that gasp of pleasure that means his moment is at hand. That pulse I have felt across my palms stretches me from the inside, and knowing that I can make him feel this way, the way that he makes me feel, is like a bolt of lightning. I release again, stronger, harder, _better_ than any other. I try to stifle a moaning scream against his arm, pressing my lips to his skin as he grits his teeth and gasps in my ear.

I fall back, boneless, with him still atop me, exhausted. He kisses me then, a low moan of satisfaction escaping us both. He props himself up on his elbows, and brushes the hair from my face as my breath evens out, and I finally open my eyes. A slow smile spreads across my face, and I giggle, wrapping my arms around his neck. He smiles back, and kisses me again, trying to distract me from our separation as he slowly withdraws.

He rolls to his back and stares at the top of his tent, stunned. I immediately press to his side, my legs trembling, and he gathers me into his embrace. He pulls a blanket over us, and tucks me in very securely against his side, where I belong, where I am home. My hand splays across his chest, over his heart, and I smile, closing my eyes, and sigh happily.

He kisses the top of my head. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course. Anything."

He covers my hand with his own, and tries to look down at me. "Why were you crying? I mean, I could tell I wasn't hurting you, so..."

I smile, my eyes still closed. "Tears of joy, my love." I shifts my cheek against his shoulder, nuzzling his neck.

After a time, he murmurs sleepily, "You know, in the Chantry, they say this is the moment where we both get struck by lightning."

I laugh softly, smiling against his shoulder. "Okay. Well, I'm just going to sleep right here, and if the Maker decides that is the price, well, then you are worth it. I think. It might require more testing."


	12. Loghain MacTir

_In Kambriana's mind..._

Her fingers twitch as she stands over the body of the misled knight. She never caught his name. Just another face, another set of armour, another pool of blood on the stones. She numbly wipes her daggers on the grass and sheathes them.

She looks at Zevran. Her fingers twitch again. She closes her eyes and thinks of all the faces that fell before her. She thinks of her parents. She thinks of Rendon Howe. Her hands ball into fists.

She thinks of Duncan, and all the Gray Wardens she never knew. She thinks of Alistair's face, the morning she woke up in Flemeth's hut. She remembers King Cailan, how kind his face, how touching his sorrow over her parents, how bright and shining his hopes for saving Ferelden with one, well-planned attack.

She feels her face darken with the rage that boils within her.

She thinks of lost Lothering, of the child on the bridge, of the highwaymen and the displaced elven family.

She remembers the killing field at Ostagar, clinging to Alistair as they both wept over the pyre of their fallen, defiled king.

She throws her head back and screams, a wordless cry of primal fury. She opens her eyes again, wildly taking in the here and now, her friends standing motionless, shocked. Never has she shown such raw anger. Her mouth sets in a tight line, and she locks eyes with Alistair.

Her voice is low, soft, deadly as velvet-covered steel. "Alistair. I swear to you: when at last we face Loghain MacTir," and she spits on the ground, "...he will die for all these crimes, to pay for all the deaths he's caused and all the blood spilled in his name."

She doesn't have to explain. The faces that surround her are grim, set, and ready.


	13. Cinnamon

"My dear warden," he whispered, "you are as steady as a ship at sea."

I scowled, and shifted my weight yet again, eliciting a "tch" from above, as his weight shifted, too. He might look slight, but the man was all muscle, and heavy. My shoulders were aching with the effort. "I'm not built for this!" I whispered, strained.

An eternity later, as I began to tremble, no matter how I tried to bear up, he sighed softly and slipped down from his perch. My arms were too leaden to give him the hand down that I had given him on the way up, and so he had to slide down my body a bit to reach the ground safely. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the wall, sagging with relief.

Not a moment later, the sound of the guard could be heard toward the end of the alley. He tugged my arm and quickly drew me into a side-street, then ducked us down another alley. I leaned against the wall, trying to catch my breath. I was still feeling fatigued from the effort of holding him up so he could see over the wall. At least now, we were far enough away from the Arlessa's estate to elevate us above immediate suspicion. I stretched my neck, arms and shoulders, trying to bring them back to life. I felt as though I had been pummelled and left for dead. As close as we were to the estate, if I were recognized, we'd be in trouble anyway. We had to keep moving.

Torchlight unexpectedly shone at the end of the alley. No time to run. Thinking far more quickly than I, he swivelled away from the light and pressed me back against the wall. Before I knew what was happening, he'd wrapped himself around me and locked me in a kiss, his hair falling over both our faces to conceal us.

My first, instinctual, reaction was to struggle. He wrapped a fistful of my hair around his hand to hold me in place, but then I was off-balance. As the guard drew nearer, I managed to put my arms around his waist just to keep from falling sideways. I could feel him smile against my mouth.

One of the guardsmen chuckled, mumbling something to his companion about lust. The other guard tapped me lightly on the hip with his truncheon as he passed us and called over his shoulder, "The Pearl's not that far, folks, best get a room."

I didn't notice when they turned the corner, when the torchlight faded; I had softened to him, returning the kiss. He had pressed himself so tightly against me, I could feel his... attraction... to me. My heart began to beat faster as his other hand slowly roamed away from the small of my back, caressing my waist. I was nearly powerless to stop him, my arms as leaden and useless as they were at the moment, but... to my shame... I didn't want to. In fact, as his hand slowly moved up my ribs to cup my breast, I shivered, and pressed back.

I felt, more than heard, his mutter of satisfaction, that low growl a man makes when he _knows_ he's brought a positive reaction from you. He used his grip on my hair to bend my head back a bit, and began to trail his kisses along my jawline. My breath caught when he gently bit my neck. He slipped his knee between my thighs, and pressed against me harder. I bit down on my lip, but I squeaked. He dropped his hand from my hair in favour of lifting my thigh to wrap about his hip. His hot breath washed over my breast, through the cloth, and I shuddered again, pressing my face into the top of his hair.

I could smell his scent: wind, lock oil, weapon black, leather, and something... spicy... like cinnamon. Arms protesting, I slid a hand up his back, wrapping my fingers around his shoulder. He slid a hand between my thighs, and I tightened my arms around him, as I lost all sense of balance. He was stronger than me, though, and easily held me, using the wall for support. The skirt I had worn as part of this disguise was no barrier at all to him, and his cold fingers slid into the hottest part of me. I squeaked again, trying to stifle myself.

I know what he found there. He growled again, more surprised and questioning this time. Again, I pressed back, exhaling sharply as a bolt of heat shot through me. I pressed my shoulders back against the wall as he pressed toward me again, his fingers sliding into me. I shuddered for him, my mouth falling open slightly as I tried to swallow a moan. His breath was hot against my neck as he kissed me again. I felt the cold night air against my thighs.

He lifted me easily, settling me against the wall, bracing me with his hips. My skirt hiked up around my waist, baring me to him, and he carefully lowered me down until we were touching in the most intimate of places. He paused there, gave me time to think, to protest, but I did not. I opened my eyes and looked down at him. Whatever he saw there made him give me a smile full of sex and promise. I bit my lip, and pressed downwards just a tiny bit, just that certain amount that welcomed him across the threshold.

He blinked, slowly, and slid me just a little bit farther down the wall. I gasped, my eyes fluttering closed. He continued my slow descent until our hips met. He paused there, adjusting his stance and shifting my weight a bit. I shivered, already close, as his hands found a better grip upon me. He raised his face, then, and caught my lips in a kiss, gentler this time, sweeter. I fell into his kiss, tightened my thighs around his waist as he moved against me, as he moved me against him.

My heart raced, my breaths becoming shallow as he maintained a perfect, slow rhythm. I shook, my body trying to buck against him, but his grip was strong, and he held me fast to the pace he had chosen. The kiss broke as I had to raise my head, gasping, in the moment. I rested my head against his shoulder, felt his breath hot and fast on my neck. He pressed his lips to the spot just beneath my ear, and I heard him growl again, softly, the sound of possession and satisfaction. I shivered again, and when he bit me there, the wave of pleasure washed over me, and I tried to muffle my cry into the cloth of his shirt.

I began to tremble with the aftershocks, as he continued for a few moments while he found his release. I clung to him tightly, knowing it was soon to end, burying my face in his hair. He pressed me back against the wall, growling under his breath as the wave swept him under as well. We remained that way a few moments, both of us trying to catch our breath. Slowly, he lifted me up, separating us. My legs trembled, and I slid down the wall, my eyes closed, still out of breath. I heard him fumbling with the laces of his pants, then he squatted in front of me.

I leaned my head back, feeling the night air drying the sweat on my face. He fumbled around a bit, I heard some liquid sound, then he pressed a cold, wet cloth into my hand. I opened my eyes, then, to see him there with a mischievous look in his eyes. They were drowning deep, and my breath caught again.

"The guards will be by in only a few moments, and we must be well away. Be quick now, and I will take you to the passageway." I nodded, turned my back to him, and fumbled with my skirts, and the cloth. He chuckled softly under his breath at my belated display of modesty.

Soon, I was following him through twisted alleys, over walls, and under a bridge, where we found a crevice barely wide enough to accommodate a person. I tried to slip in after him, but I am a woman, and certain things do not lend themselves easily to compression. I let out all my breath, and he was able, just barely, to pull me through. I was glad I had heeded his advice against wearing my armour. I slipped free of the crush so suddenly that I fell against him again. He held me there a moment, his hands finding my face, roaming a bit before he caught my hand.

I could feel the flush creeping up my cheeks, and was glad of the darkness.

He pulled me along, sure-footedly, unerringly, swiftly. Soon, we reached the other end of the passage, and dim light filtered in. We emerged from a seemingly innocuous pile of ivy growing down the side of a warehouse.

Here, he wheeled and pressed me back against the wall again. I felt my breath pick up a bit, and my lips parted. A knowing smile spread across his face, but his eyes were all professional. Finally, he leaned back, and said, "Perhaps you should consider running your fingers through that tangled hair. Also, you seem to have a smudge of something black under your left eye." He brushed aside the hair next to my neck. "And, though I was careful not to leave a mark, your pale skin still shows an imprint. It is already fading, but... it may still be visible for another hour. Best to keep it covered, yes?"

He took a step back to let me rearrange my dishevelled appearance. As I straightened my skirt, I realized that I could still smell him. His scent was all over me. I closed my eyes, my shoulders dropping, and put my hands over my face. I took a few deep breaths, and carried on straightening my hair. _Why had I not thought of this before?_ I grumbled under my breath.

He turned back to look at me, that smirk still playing about his mouth. I let a heavy sigh, my shoulders dropping. "What wouldn't I give for a bath right now?" I mused. But there was nothing for it. We had to trek back to camp.

"Did you learn anything useful?" Alistair greeted us, once we sat down by the fire. I immediately began to blush, so I dipped my head to let my hair fall about my face.

"The Arlessa does not keep her windows locked at night," Zevran interjected smoothly, "It would seem that she has an illicit lover who climbs the ivy in the night. A certain _noble_ lover, whose standing in the social order would be severely... damaged... if this information were to ever come to light. A most fruitful expedition. With a bit of prodding, it should pose little trouble to convince the nobles in question to stifle their slandering for the time being. All anonymously, of course."

Thankfully, Alistair's attention was now focused on Zev, so I could make at least _some_ kind of attempt to master my face. I took a few deep breaths, and forced down the blush. I thought I had been pretty successful, until I finally looked up, and saw Leliana looking at me speculatively. When I met her eyes, she quite deliberately looked at Zev, then back at me, and raised an eyebrow. I know I looked guilty. She shook her head in disbelief, looking away and hiding a small smile. I knew she'd corner me about the details later... and I actually kind of looked forward to telling them, since it was going to be so hard to keep it to myself.

Apparently finished with their conversation, Alistair invited me to go with him to gather more wood for the fire. How could I say no, without looking strange? I went. We wandered a while, before he finally got to the point, and backed me up against a tree. He wound his arms around my waist, pulling me into him, and I felt safe... home. I relaxed against him, resting my head against his chest. I noticed the difference between the love that was truly here, and the sordid heat of the illicit encounter I'd had with Zevran in the alley.

Suddenly, I felt incredibly, bitterly guilty, and dirty. I felt unworthy of the love and trust that Alistair showed me. I hated myself for the first time in my life. Alistair had taken my virginity, but Zev took my virtue, and I had let him do it.

This was not something I could ever reveal to Alistair; it would crush him, and I would lose his trust. That would end me. It could never happen.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, he pulled me into a kiss, and I melted. No, this was different. This was not skill or desperation, but love, and true passion. This was real, and that... a... a shadow puppet of something real. All the form, none of the substance.

He held me, and buried his face in my hair. "You smell like a cookie," he said, a smile in his voice. Cinnamon. He pulled back abruptly, the smile fading, searching my face. "What..." He pulled me back into his arms, running his fingers through my hair, and kissed the top of my head. "What's wrong?" he whispered into my hair, "Why are you crying?" ...I shook my head, clinging to him, because, of course, I couldn't tell him why.

Music: Suzanne Vega - Caramel  
_It won't do, to dream of caramel, to think of cinnamon, and long for you.  
It won't do, to stir a deep desire, to fan a hidden fire, that can never burn true.  
I know your name, I know your skin, I know the way these things begin..._


	14. Love Lies Bleeding

We went on, same as before. I tried, so very hard, to act nonchalant. Zev had no problems... not even a flicker of regret or sympathy. He played my emotions like a fine mandolin, saw an opening and took it. I can't point the finger at him, because I never said no, even though he knew, he _knew_ what he was doing.

And I? Not a thought in my head. I had been mortally terrified, thinking I would end up in someone's dungeon to rot. They throw you in a dungeon, they don't have to tell anyone where you are, or that they ever saw you. In my fear, I let my body take over, and so he got what he wanted, and it probably doesn't even matter to him if that makes my life a wreck. He got his, and if that's all he gets, that's okay. And if Alistair and I break up, then perhaps I will come to his bed, and that would be just fine with him, too. I wonder sometimes if he has any scruples at all.

What a nightmare. We went on like this for two days.

I am not very good at concealing anything, particularly if I am in pain, and so Alistair was with me, close, watching over me, and hoping I would tell him what was bothering me at some point.

Today, we make camp, and Alistair heads off into the woods to gather tinder, as always.

I take the opportunity to go bathe in the river. This camp is my favourite, because some enterprising soul actually made a bath here. There's a natural hollow along the bank where someone carefully piled and cemented river stones until a bath big enough for two was created. The top end has a little gate to let cold river water in, and the lower end has another little gate to let it out again. Very clever. If you throw hot stones from under the fire into it, it's even warm. Fortunately, we've got Morrigan, so, no stones necessary. She scorches the water for me, then remarks over her shoulder, "Don't bother thanking me... the stones of the bath will stay warm long enough that I will be able to have a nice hot bath, myself."

I quickly strip and lower myself into the steaming, deliciously warm water. Relaxing, I stare at the trees on the other side, and wish away all the deceit that has been in my heart. If I could just find some calm within me, if I could just reach some part of magic, maybe I can take myself back to that night, do the right thing, push him away when the guards had gone.

But no. These things do not happen. The decisions we make, the lives we lead, they're inscribed in stone. I hang my head, letting my hair fall about my face, and the tears come again, just like every day, every night. I try to push it away, try to ignore it, but it eats at my heart, and he knows I'm not telling him everything. He's not stupid; he already knows it's got something to do with the night Zevran and I went into the city to spy on the Arlessa. I sink lower in the water, wetting my hair, letting the water take my sorrow, sorrow that I do not deserve, for I have done this all to myself. I wash my hair and my face and duck all the way under the water. I feel the warmth envelop me completely. I wish I could hang on to this warmth when the nights are so bitterly cold.

I taught him to track, myself. So why am I surprised that he's found me so quickly? The wood must have been plentiful.

I hear his armour creak as he sits down beside the bath. "So... Is there room enough for two?" His voice is light, but careful, so careful of me the last two days. I smile. It's all the invitation he needs, by now, and before I know it, he's dropped his armour and clothing onto the bank. I let my eyes roam while he climbs into the bath with me, the pattern of scars that have become so familiar, I can trace them in the dark.

He pulls me against him, my back to his chest, and kisses me in the hollow between my neck and shoulder. I shiver as his kisses sink lower, down my neck and on to my back. But there, he stops, and pulls back. I open my eyes and look over my shoulder at him curiously. He trails his fingers over my back, and I shiver. "How did this happen?"

"What?"

"You have bruises all over your back. How did you get so many bruises?" He sounds pained, on my behalf.

"Uhmmm... Well... The other night when I was in the city, I _was_ leaning against the wall to the Arl's estate, with... him... standing on my shoulders..." I squeeze my eyes shut, but he lets it pass, and I breathe out. He resumes his soft kisses, his roughened hands slide up my belly to cup my breasts, and I soften to him, finally letting go of that horrible knot in my stomach.

Everything can be okay. He loves me, and I love him, without reservation. We are a tangle of limbs, kisses, and sighs, and I am drowning in him, completely in the moment. This, him, his hands, his breath, this is all I have ever wanted. I am so ready for him when he bends me over the side of the tub, I am shaking with it. I wait, but he has gone still.

He speaks in a monotone. "So... How exactly did you get the fingerprints on your thighs, then?" I freeze. Bruises? I turn quickly, to see concern and uneasiness on his face. I cross my arms over my breasts, standing there naked in front of him. I remain frozen, shocked, I don't know what to say, what to do. I feel sick. Tears spring to my eyes again, and I can't do anything to stop them. He watches me closely. I can't meet his eyes any more.

"I... I couldn't stop him..." Uh-oh. That's not right. That was the wrong way to start.

His face clouds over with immediate fury. "Someone... _forced_ you? Where was Zevran? Why couldn't he protect you?"

I know my face is turning red. He narrows his eyes and cocks his head. "Waiiiiit..." he says, studying me closely. "Did _he_ force you?" I feel my eyes widen, and I shake my head, no, no!, but I'm completely tongue-tied. I can't admit what I've done, I'm so afraid of his wrath, that he might fall out of love with me. He regards me for a few minutes, confused. I can't think of anything to say, and he's obviously waiting for me to say something. He watches me, my tension, and I know I look panicked, because I could never hide anything from him.

Suddenly his face is closed, remote. For the first time, that mistrustful look is directed at me, like a stab in the heart. His eyes crumple at the corners, and he holds me by the shoulders. He looks down at me and speaks softly. "Tell me this isn't what I think it is." His voice drops to a whisper. "Please, _my rose..._ please... Anything, anything but that." My stomach drops out. He knows. He knows what I've done.

I open my mouth to speak, but there's nothing. Nothing I can say. The truth of it is written all over my face... all over my body. He turns from me quickly. "Wait!" I catch his arm, try to turn him back to me, but he stops with his back still to me. He waits. What am I going to say? I don't know. I tell the truth.

"We had to run. The watch was there, at the end of the alley, we were going to be discovered! They would have seen me and known I'm a Warden, thrown me in a pit and closed the lid. There are only two of us, and our faces are known around here, you know, thanks to Loghain. I couldn't run; I was too tired from holding him up for a crone's age. I stumbled a couple of blocks away, but I still wear this face. So... so... um... he... he grabbed me, and... and he kissed me... and his hair was over my face so they couldn't see who I was, and then the guard thought we were just lovers and took no notice of us... and... and then..." I got through most of it in a rush, but I can't finish. It's true, it's all true... as far as it goes...

His shoulders hitch, like they do when he's about to go into battle. I take my hand off his arm quickly. His voice is dangerous, low, and bitter. "He kissed you so hard, he bruised his _fingerprints_ into your _thighs_. Riiiight. Yes. I understand _completely_." He puts on his breeches with a sharp tug, gathers up his armour, and stalks off into the night, leaving me standing there alone in the moonlight, clothed only in my own shame. I gather my discarded clothing and put myself back together. I feel hollow.

Distantly, I hear shouts from the camp. I run. I am standing on the edge of camp, behind Morrigan's shack, when I see what is happening.

Alistair has drawn on Zevran. Leliana is trying to pull Zev away, to push him back, out of the camp. Sten is holding Alistair by the shoulder, but it's not going to do much good. Alistair's face is set in an angry snarl. Zev has both his daggers drawn, and is crouched low, ready for a lunge, but his stance is defensive.

"I assure you, Warden, I have _never_ taken an unwilling partner." Alistair snarls again. Maker! I led him to the wrong conclusion! I shook my head, I said no! Zev spreads his hands, holding on to his daggers with only his thumbs. "I truly have no wish to fight you, for I would not try to make any claim upon her. If a woman does not tell me no, does not even _try_ to stop me, then how am I to know that it will become a problem?"

Alistair slumps, staring at Zevran. His sword tip drops to rest upon the ground. "She... she didn't?" Zevran sheaths his daggers, holds out his empty hands, and shakes his head, no.

"I would swear upon my mother's grave, if I knew where it was."

I am completely stricken. What have I done? Alistair trudges off to his tent and disappears within. Zevran exchanges glances with Leliana. She looks disapproving. He, at least, has the grace to look sheepish. The crash of falling armour can be heard, and then nothing but silence. Still, I wait. I am too embarrassed to face the group, and so I remain hidden here.

Morrigan sits by her own fire. Without even turning around, in a low, conversational tone, she says, "I can hear you breathing back there. I know you don't consider me your friend, so perhaps you should try speaking to Leliana, now that things seem to have died down a bit."

"But... Zev is still out there."

Morrigan snorts. "Ah. You have no problem with the sex, just with admitting to it, I see. You can't hide back there forever, you know." I sigh. Of course, she's right.

I circle around and emerge from the woods behind Leliana's tent. Wynne shoots me an extremely disapproving glare, and I look away quickly; Sten... well, he's impenetrable at the best of times. Zevran gives me a very opaque look.

I spread my hands outward in a helpless gesture. I hold my hands out as though cupping something tightly in front of me, then gesture to my thighs. He closes his eyes, passes a hand over them, looks resigned, nods his head. I sigh, shrug. He looks apologetic, waves a hand. I am relieved. At least he understands I didn't sic Alistair on him on purpose. I turn back to Leliana's tent and scratch at the side of it. She pokes her head out and holds the flap aside when she sees it is me. I crawl inside and sit down, dejected.

She regards me silently for a few minutes, but I don't speak. Her voice is very quiet when, at last, she says, "I would not have expected you to have such a dalliance with Zevran."

I snort. "Me, either."

"Well, then, what happened?" I explain the events of the night in question, and then tonight's, as well. She is quiet for a long while afterwards, thinking.

"I've destroyed everything, and the worst part is, I didn't even mean to."

"You know he wants to _kill_ Zev now, don't you? Things will not go well if he stays on with us."

I sigh again. "Yes, but we need his skills. We would never have gotten the information on the Arlessa without him. He can get into places that no one else can, and he fights like a demon." Leliana nods thoughtfully.

"You will have to face Alistair about this, at some point. He wouldn't be so angry, and you so broken, if you both didn't feel love for each other so strongly. You will need a peace offering. If you find the right words, perhaps breaking it off with Zev where Alistair can hear you will give him heart."

She reaches out and puts a hand on my shoulder in solidarity. I say, "You're the sister I never had, truly. Thank you." We hug.

"Of course. Now, go. And, good luck." She gives me a warm smile, and, really, I do feel better. It's good advice. Now I just have to make it happen.

_Every Warrior of the Light has felt afraid of going into battle.  
Every Warrior of the Light has, at some time in the past, lied or betrayed someone.  
Every Warrior of the Light has trodden a path that was not his.  
Every Warrior of the Light has suffered for the most trivial of reasons.  
Every Warrior of the Light has, at least once, believed he was not a Warrior of the Light.  
Every Warrior of the Light has failed in his spiritual duties.  
Every Warrior of the Light has said 'yes' when he wanted to say 'no.'  
Every Warrior of the Light has hurt someone he loved.  
That is why he is a Warrior of the Light, because he has been through all this and yet has never lost hope of being better than he is._

~Paulo Coelho


	15. Torn Apart and Indigo Eyes

_In Kambriana's mind..._

I should never have lied to you by the things I did not say. I couldn't tell you what happened, I didn't want to lose you. I cannot explain my actions, but your hurt, your pain, this is the ending of my world, all my castles crumble, now that you cannot trust me.

What can I say? There's nothing you'd believe. Now I have nothing. Darkness, when all I need, all I want is you. It was just a mistake, don't let the world turn grey around us. I'm sinking so low. I need you to pull me out, and there's no way I can turn to anyone else. I don't know why I did it, I don't know what happened... I was so frightened, and he was there, and he kissed me to save my life, and then I just lost my head.

I never meant to hurt you with it, I never meant for you to find out at all, because I wished it had never happened, but wishing it away doesn't fix it, does it. I'll turn into a bird and fly away into the woods and hide myself, no longer needed. Just broken pieces of a broken action in the middle of the night, and I wish it had been you there, instead of tearing my world apart.

_In Alistair's mind..._

There's no turning from those eyes. Hate her? Yes. Love her still? Yes, to that too. Burning anger, burning desire, how to reconcile the two? How to make her see the pain, confusion, fury? You were supposed to be _my_ girl, _my rose_. Yet the soft grace of your face, the looks you give me when you think I'm not looking; I see the pain in your face just as much as I feel it in my heart. But this wall between us is thick now with lies and the weight of things that were never said, things that were done in my absence, and how am I supposed to forgive that?

But then I see you looking at me again, with your drowning deep eyes, and I fall into them all over again, and how do I fight that? I know you're there, I know you want my forgiveness, but it's not so easily won this time, is it? I want him gone, you insist he stays, you say it meant nothing, but this this means everything to me, that you would share this with someone else, particularly him.

The blood that I would spill!

But then I look in your eyes, and I can't, I can't do it. I have to listen, I have to follow, the leash you've put on me - and I let you, I let you, and you know it, don't you. The mournful looks from those swimming eyes, how am I supposed to resist you, even with the fury still singing in my veins.

You will not like this forgiveness. It's rough and hard, like the tearing of my heart. But i will give it, and you _will_ take it, and prove to me, prove to me that you're _mine_.


	16. Bound and Unbound

The three of them stand by the fire, exchanging glances. It is Sten who speaks first. "They have lost focus."

Leliana muses, "We'll never get anywhere with the Wardens not talking to one another. They're the ones with the plan."

"Agreed. So, what do we do about it?" Morrigan, brusque and to the point. Silence.

Wynne approaches from the darkness behind the tents, a sprig of Elfroot in her hand. "I... have an idea."

.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.

It takes us three more weeks to make it to Soldier's Peak. Three weeks of monosyllabic conversations. Set up, tear down; cook food, gather wood. Try to have an appetite, eat anyway. I trudge on, staring at my boots. Monotony. I get used to not talking to anyone. I get used to Raster being the only one walking next to me. I don't look anyone in the eye any more. I try really hard not to look at him, because when I do, I start to cry. It's easier to just feel blank. I do my job in silence.

I've been taking second watch. It's easier to split the night in half, because then, in the morning, I am tired enough that I don't think. The night we make camp outside the warren of caves leading up to the Peak, I sit my watch on a large boulder overlooking the path we used to get here. There is no way, from my perch, that anyone coming up is going to go unnoticed. Unexpectedly, Leliana joins me. I glance at her just long enough to be sure of her identity, then I continue my watch upon the pathway. We sit in silence for a very long time.

Finally, she clears her throat softly, and speaks. "May I ask you a question?"

"Yes."

"What were you thinking about, that night?"

She doesn't have to say which one. I know. The one that destroyed everything. I swallow hard, my eyes burning, and push away the pain that wants to come rushing up. My voice comes out raw. "Pain. Death." I draw a shaking breath.

"Yours?"

"Yes."

We are silent again. A chill wind blows powdery snow into my face. I let it sit on my hair and shoulders. I don't bother to sweep it away. Whatever happens to me now, I'll deserve it.

At last, another question, sounding as though it were drawn from her almost reluctantly. "Why did you say yes to him?"

I didn't. But, I did. I close my eyes. My voice cracks. "I don't know." I'm going to cry again. "I took your advice, you know. I tried. I really did try to speak to him. He just... he just ignored me. It was like I wasn't even there. The second time, he yelled at me. I backed away and let him have his space." I know I'm the one at fault here, all the way around. "Lel," I whisper. "Please. It hurts too much to think about. I have to be able to do my job."

She sighs. A moment later, she is gone.

.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.:o:.

Late in the day, I trudge up to the courtyard. Levi waves hello to us, but the smile fades when he sees the grim and silent state of us. I drop my pack into our chest, and wearily climb the stairs into the keep. I don't look back. They'll camp somewhere. I'm going to our-

No. It's just _my_ room again.

I lean against the doorway, staring at the room in its familiar disarray. Our outlines on the sheets. Lay down my daggers on the trunk at the end of the bed. Hang my armour on the stand, piece by piece. I stand there for a long time, staring at my armour, and the empty stand next to it. Ignore the bed. My locket hangs heavy on my neck. I take it off. It still, even now, smells of rose.

The door opens. I hide it behind my back as I turn to look.

Alistair.

He looks as surprised as I feel. In one coordinated movement, all together, Leliana and Sten shove Alistair forward. Morrigan uses her magic to dump water, followed by fire, into the empty tub in the corner. And Wynne drops a covered pan on the floor. They all slam the door. I hear the sound of a bar dropping across it, outside. Leliana calls in a sing-song voice, "Play nice, Wardens!" Then silence reigns.

His eyes are hard as stone. I drop my gaze to the floor, put my back to the wall. After a long moment, he shucks his armour. I close my eyes and swallow hard, try not to look. Things that left nothing but hollow darkness behind when I lost them:

_The scent of his skin. The roughness of his hands. The strength in him. The softness of his hair running through my fingers._

All the pain I've tried to deny: a heavy, aching blow that takes my breath away.

_The crescent-shaped scar on the point of his hip. Burning kisses. The heat of his body. Everything outside of us melted away when he held me._

"What's in your hand." I start. It's a statement, a demand. I choke on the memories, cannot speak. "What is in your hand." I squeeze my eyes, shake my head.

"Nothing."

He grabs my arm a little roughly, forces me to present my fist. The two halves of the chain dangle between my fingers. I turn my face away as another blasted tear escapes. I let my hair fall over my face, to hide the shame written there. I open my hand. He stills.

"Why?" His voice is low and rough.

"I... it... It's all I have left." He drops his hand, releasing my wrist. I close my hand around the locket again, and clutch it to my chest. When I look, I see him in profile going toward the bed. He is weary. I turn against the wall, my back to him, and refasten the chain.

I look at the tub, still steaming. My aching feet demand proof of my affections. Fight or not, if I don't take care of them, I won't be walking anywhere tomorrow. I leave my pants on the bed. The water has finally cooled enough that it's just that side of too hot, but perfect for this. My calves begin to soften, and I sigh with the simple relief of it.

Something white flickers at the corner of my eye. He took off his shirt. My mouth goes dry, and I am transported back to that shining moment when I had given him a husband's claim upon me.

I suddenly realize that I've been staring at his stomach. He hasn't moved; he has been standing there with his shirt in his hand, studying my reaction. An apology for staring springs to my lips, but dies unspoken. He pins me down with unflinching eyes.

My face heats up, and I glance away.

I wash up quickly and get away from the tub. Tubs... tubs are dangerous.

On the trunk at the end of the bed, I try to check over my weapons, but my hands are shaking. I wipe the blades and take them to the stand.

He is suddenly so close, like electricity along my back. I shiver. "Enough lies and silence, Kambriana. Let's get this over with. Where is your heart?" I take a deep breath.

I face him and take his hands in my own, turn them so they form a cup. I study the calluses there, the hands that have loved me. "Here."

He takes one of my hands, and presses my palm to his lips. The raw pain in his face strikes me to the bone. I whisper his name; he looks at me sharply and lets go of my hand.

"Then tell me."

"What?"

"I've seen it in your eyes." There is a hint of his old humour in his voice, but now it's dark and sharp as a knife. "You've been _mis_erable without me."

He shames me. Once again I cannot meet his eyes.

He leans close to me, nose to nose. He can see right through me. I am _such_ an _**idiot**_. His voice is low and full of steel. "Why. did. you. do it."

I shiver again. "I... I wish I knew. Nonono! Wait, listen! I've been asking myself that same question every day, every night, every minute. There's... something about him that... took me by surprise. I know! I know it's not enough, but _nothing_ I could say about it would ever make it right. I... feel like I fell into a trap, and it swallowed you, too. And I just keep trying and trying to wash the blood off my hands, but nothing makes it clean again, does it."

He backs off a half pace and looks at me mistrustfully. "Is that _really_ what you want? To make it right?"

Cautiously now: "Is that even _possible_?"

He catches my chin in his hand, carefully assessing me. His eyes are drowning serious. "Will you make oath to me?"

My heart stops. "Fealty?"

"Yes. Fealty." He points to the floor at his feet. "Here. Now."

My head rings like a tolling bell. _Wish granted: take it all back, before it's too late._

Long breaths, my pulse pounding in my ears: I modify the oath my father's vassals swear. With bowed head, I drop to my knees in front of him, offering up my daggers across my open palms. He puts his hands over my blades. I take a deep breath, my heart pounding. Fealty, binding me my whole life long. Using his full name gives me a chill.

_Steady now._ My voice trembles, and I know why the vassals quailed before my father. Words like these are pulled from your very soul. I draw a shaking breath after each line.

"I, Kambriana Cousland, kneel before the Maker, to swear my life's oath to Alistair Theirin, to submit all the days I have left into his hands. I will be faithful and true to him, love all which he loves, and fight all which he fights. I will never, with will or action, through word or deed, do anything which is shameful in his eye. I offer up my skills to his service, and will stand beside him without question in any battle, even to the day when I vow to follow him into the Deep Roads. So mote it be."

My knees ache from the stone. A silence. Then, "I accept your oath." He takes the daggers from my hands and sets them back on the stand. His hands enclose mine. I look up.

"I demand satisfaction," he murmurs. That conversation, a lifetime ago. He pulls on my hands and brings me to my feet.

"And the coin?"

"You. You are the coin."

Before I can say anything else, he tugs me forward. I have no time to react, my senses overwhelm. I wrap my arms tightly around his shoulders as he claims my kiss, crushing me against the long line of his body. I am borne up on an intoxicating whirlwind of bliss; my toes leave the floor. I wrap my legs around his waist. For timeless moments, we are frantically devouring each other.

He staggers across the room and lays me down amongst the rumpled blankets.

My shirt is up and off in one quick motion, baring me to him completely. I shiver and cross my arms over my breasts and belly, but he bats them away. "No more hiding," he murmurs, so I stretch them up over my head, loosely. He kneels between my thighs, tracing all my curves as though he is trying to memorize me.

I writhe for him, helplessly whimpering. He leans over me, propping himself up on his arms so he can look me in the eye. I lay panting beneath him, so very aware of the weight and heat of him, just one deep breath from contact. He leans down to bury his face in the hollow of my neck, and whispers in my ear.

"You are _mine_, my rose."

"Always," I whisper.

His hand roams across my breast, down my side, to settle at my lower back. He angles my hips sharply upward, and I gasp as he pulls me tight against the proof of his attraction to me. My eyes flutter closed and a small moan escapes me. I am immediately and obviously ready for him.

He laughs, low and possessive, but he isn't done with me yet.

Over and over again, mouth, lips, teeth, hands, fingers, skin, breath, he brings me to the brink, trembling on the edge, and refuses me release. I lay sobbing, shuddering, hungry. Never, never have I felt this way, his every touch reaching through to the soul of me, my skin on fire.

And he begins again, with the kisses at my shoulder, but this time they stray onto my back, and I roll to the side. His hands and his lips drop lower and lower, and before I know it, he slides his hands under my hips and lifts me up. I brace myself on my hands and knees.

He takes no time to make it easy on me. He pulls me backward swiftly, entering me so quickly I cry out from the sudden fullness. My arms collapse and I am helplessly, completely ravished. The tide rises, again and again, flooding me. My hips are completely under the control of his unyielding grip; my cries match his rhythm, rising and rising in volume, but I cannot help it. I sob out his name, over and over again, a song of praise, a prayer of atonement, an admission of ecstasy.

The flexing in his hands, the sudden change of tempo, the throaty growl, I shatter, over the edge again by the sudden change, and he groans as I shudder against him. He trails his hands over my hips and thighs as we both try to catch our breath, reluctant to separate. At last, it becomes unavoidable, and we both tumble forward to tangle in each others' arms. I rest my head in the hollow of his shoulder, and I know it's where I belong. I am delivered, and I weep for the release of it.

"Oh oh, oh, hey, what happened? Did I hurt you?"

My strangled little laugh sounds like a hiccup, and I shake my head, no. I dry my eyes, the sudden storm passed. I snuggle against him and wrap my arm tightly around his waist. My voice only cracks once when I say, "No, no, never. It's just... You let me come home." 


End file.
